Sturmhunde of the Panzers BY JORDRE
by Jake Crepeau
Summary: Germany, 1942. An SAS unit is captured by the Germans… Pre-history for the ‘Hogan and the General series, in an AU where Germany ultimately won the war.
1. Chapter 1

Germany, 1942. An SAS unit is captured by the Germans… Pre-history for the 'Hogan and the General series, in an AU where Germany ultimately won the war.

DISCLAIMER

This story is a figment of my own warped imagination. Unfortunately, there are some historic characters portrayed herein; any and all misrepresentations are my own fault, because I never knew them personally, and are not meant maliciously. If other characters resemble someone _you_ might have created, please understand that it is unintentional, or I would have asked your permission first. I do not own any rights to any one in this story, except for my own original characters… of which there are many. I do not make any money from this… et cetera. You all know the drill as well as I do.

Please understand that I do not personally agree with most of the negative attitudes and none of the prejudices contained herein, and am very grateful that our world is not so dark a place a this one… although something similar _could_ happen if we are not vigilant.

'Sturmhünde', while comprised of nearly all original characters, is necessary to my "Hogan and the General" series, as it includes some prehistory and introduces a bunch of OCs that are encountered in later stories. There are brief encounters with some Canon characters later in this tale.

**Appearances aside, it is NOT slash.**

Jordre

June 2009.

**Chapter 1**

June 13th 1942

The woods were dark, silent; the limited light from the waning moon barely seeping through the canopy of trees. With great caution, the patrol followed as their _Hauptmann_ led from one sentry post to the next. None dared make a sound, as tightly wound as their _Offizier_ was now.

These men had been with the _Hauptmann_ a long time; most were the survivors of his battalion of former _Waffen-SS Panzers._ After three consecutive tours of duty on the Eastern Front, however, they were now barely at company strength, despite replacements. The men didn't complain, though; it wasn't their _Hauptmann's_ fault that he had an enemy, a powerful enemy, much higher up the chain of command. It just meant that his temper was especially bad right then, even though they were now back in uncontested territory for a rest and refit.

The fact that they were in the middle of nowhere, east Poland-style, didn't help any. There was no one around for miles; the area was relatively unpopulated, so there would be little for the troops to do to amuse themselves. Still, not having anyone shooting at them was a blessed relief.

They were between sentry posts when the _Hauptmann_ held up one hand, halting the patrol. He'd thought he'd heard something, a bush rustling oddly, or perhaps a twig softly snapping. He wasn't sure just _what_ he'd heard, but you didn't survive on the Russian Front by ignoring any small hint of danger. The men, well-trained veterans, froze in place immediately. No one even shuffled his feet. They waited, listening, trusting in their _Hauptmann. _He waited also, wondering if he'd finally snapped under the pressure, doubting his own senses. He began to think that perhaps he'd imagined the sound, but still he waited.

Then he saw it, a black shadow darting across a small gap in the surrounding brush. The man obviously hadn't seen or heard the patrol, for he was still headed in their direction. The young _Hauptmann_ grinned to himself; he'd wondered where he'd find relief, here in supposedly safe territory. Prisoners would not be easy to find, here near the Fatherland. Not like the Eastern Front, where enemies were plentiful. But here, now, like a gift from the God he did not believe in, was one who was clearly an enemy of the _Reich_, and who was not known to the officials. He would not be protected by the Geneva Convention, either, for he was clearly a _Kommando_. He would be his keeper for as long as he liked.

Carefully the men positioned themselves, moving as silently as their quarry. They let him pass beyond their line, still keeping their presence hidden. He would be dangerous... With a rush, two of the German soldiers bore their quarry to earth, taking him completely by surprise. He struggled, nearly knifing one of the soldiers, but their _Feldwebel_ grabbed his knife arm, forcing the hand to open and let fall the sharp blade. Only when the muzzles of two rifles pressed into his neck did the black-clad man finally yield, lying back on the leaf-covered ground in momentary defeat. Throughout the struggle, he'd said not a word, nor had his captors.

The _Hauptmann_ watched this, silently approving his men's performance. They had needed no order from him to take their prisoner alive and relatively unharmed; they knew his habits, his needs, as well as he knew himself. His men were loyal, too; they would say nothing to his superiors. Again he felt regret that they were forced to wear mere _Wehrmacht feldgräu , _but at least they were all still alive and free to fight for the _Reich_. Too many of their fellow SS units had been split up or imprisoned for atrocities and abuses. His men had been spared that dishonor, simply because he had never let them get out of control.

The patrol had their prisoner restrained now, and up on his feet once more. Several of the soldiers started along the _kommando's_ back-trail, although they would not go very far right then. A true search would wait for the morning and daylight. They just needed to be sure that there would be no nasty surprises during the night. After a short wait, the men returned, and the patrol continued on to their destination: the last sentry post.

They found the sentry alert, but reporting no unusual disturbances. Curious eyes examined the captive commando, but no one spoke of him. He would be adequately dealt with. They knew that, when their _Hauptmann_ tired of him, or when he proved to be difficult or inconvenient, he would be shot, as all the others had been. No muss or fuss; just a quick bullet in his head. And then, in a few weeks, they would have to find him another, when the strain grew too much for him to bear again. But that was the way things were. It was not their _Hauptmann's_ fault.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He lay back on the forest floor, forcing his muscles to go limp. He had, truly, no choice: There were ten of them, plus their officer, and he had two rifles pressed to his throat. Oh, sure, he could force them to kill him, but that was so... _final._ Better to wait and see if some chance for escape would come his way, or could be made. He was puzzled, though. Usually the Krauts were rough with their prisoners, or so he'd heard. These used only enough force to subdue him. It was even odder that he hadn't even suspected that they were lying in wait for him. Jim Brewster _knew_ that he was good; that was why he was the squad's forward scout. How these Krauts had snuck up on him, he hadn't the slightest idea.

That was another thing. There wasn't supposed to be _any_ force of troops in this area, according to Intelligence. Just where had these come from? They were obviously veterans; they knew what they were doing... and had also had experience with prisoners, he noted with surprise, for none of these men got in the way of any of their comrades. No one spoke to give orders, but every one of them knew what to do next. He watched in growing concern as their _Feldwebel,_ a fairly senior one, at that, walked over to the waiting officer.

«_Herr Hauptmann?_» the man asked, specifying nothing.

«_Ja,_ this one will do,» the German captain replied, a very slight smile showing momentarily. «Secure him; we must finish this quickly.»

«_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_,» the sergeant responded, saluting, then turned to face his men and nodded.

To Jim's surprise, one of the soldiers pulled out a roll of bandaging and carefully wrapped both his wrists. This began to make sense when a second man pulled out a small roll of wire and bound the commando's wrists together with it. The bandaging would keep the wire from cutting into Jim's wrists, but he couldn't help wondering why they would bother. His hands secured, Jim was pulled to his feet, the surrounding soldiers watching him carefully the whole time. Any hopes he had were dashed when a loop of the wire was run through his bent elbows and secured behind his back. It didn't matter that he'd not been checked for weapons; with his hands and arms thus immobilized, he could reach and use none of them. The crowning blow came when they turned his balaclava around and rolled it down to cover his eyes. Despite the dim moonlight filtering through the trees, he was plunged into darkness. Several deft spins, and his sense of direction was destroyed. He was helpless in their hands.

They moved through the darkness for what felt like years, but was probably only fifteen minutes. A quiet challenge and equally hushed response from his captors told Jim that they'd reached a picket detail; just how big a group _was_ this, anyway? A softly-spoken report was given, with no activity reported; then the group was on its way once more.

He still had no idea which way they took him, but they were surprisingly careful with him. Several times, low-voiced warnings for tricky footing were given him in heavily accented English, and he was steadied each time he slipped. Still, it was exhausting traveling in this manner, still carrying his heavy pack of gear. The group stopped once to rest; the balaclava was rolled up, and the _Oberfeldwebel_ gave him a drink of water from his own canteen. Fifteen minutes of rest, the _Hauptmann_ studying him thoughtfully, then he was blinded once more and led onward through the early night.

More challenges and responses marked the patrol's return to their main camp. Once they were inside their main perimeter, the makeshift blindfold was removed, allowing Jim to see the extent of the encampment. Supply trucks were parked to one side of a large barn, still in surprisingly good condition. Many large tents, ten- to twenty-man affairs, plus officers' individual tents, were centered on the large farmhouse. Fires still glowed near what must be the cook-tent. Surrounding everything were _Panzers_, Panther tanks at that, and halftracks.

Jim was stunned. _Where_ had this come from?!! There was at least a large company's worth of men and machines, with all their support and supply equipment and personnel.

A gentle shove started Jim moving again toward one of the largest tents. Behind him he heard someone comment, «I would say that we are a Surprise, eh, Fritz?»

«_Ja, mein Hauptmann,_» came the laughing reply. «Even the Enemy thinks we have no Business here.»

«They think _that_ wherever they find us.»

«That, too, is true, my Captain.» This engendered more laughter; then, «I will see to the Men, _Herr Hauptmann._ And to our Prisoner.»

«Very good, _Oberfeldwebel;_ you may carry on.»

Jim, his head swiveling as he tried to estimate the Panzers' strength, saw the young captain pause, then start towards the farmhouse. A door opened, and a medium-sized brown dog came running out, softly barking, to greet its master. It dropped to roll belly-up before the officer, who chuckled and bent to pet the beast, talking softly to it. These Germans, it would seem, were full of surprises and contradictions.

Again a shove, this time not quite so gentle a reminder to keep moving. Jim went, wondering what they meant to do to soften him up for his coming interrogation. They brought him into one of the twenty-man tents, where he found himself the center of attention.

«A _Kommando_!» one young _Gefreiter_ exclaimed. «Where did you find him?»

«Out between Posts nine and ten,» the _Oberfeldwebel _answered with easy companionability. «Get out the Gear; _Hauptmann_ Dekker wants him.»

«At least this One doesn't stink like those Russian Peasants did,» the _Gefreiter_ responded, then he paused, for he saw something in the captive's face. «_Herr Oberfeldwebel,_» he said, slowly and carefully, «I think he speaks, or at least understands, German.»

Both men turned to study closely the subject of their conversation. Jim shifted uneasily under their scrutiny, but kept his silence. They hadn't asked him anything yet, and he wasn't about to volunteer anything.

The _Oberfeldwebel_ broke the silence. «It doesn't matter. Get him stripped and checked for Weapons, wash him, then bring him to _Hauptmann_ Dekker at the House. We should have some Work Trousers that will fit him well enough. Just don't take any Chances with this One.»

«Yes, sir, _Herr_ _Oberfeldwebel_. Come on, you; I want to get some Sleep tonight, even if you probably won't get any.»

They drew him over to the middle of the tent, forcing him down to the ground. He struggled, briefly, but the time for that to do any good was both long past, and yet to come. Besides, there were too many of them; all he'd do was get himself beat up for nothing. So he lay still and let them pull off his boots and socks, then his trousers. He couldn't help but feel relieved when they left him his shorts.

They removed the wire from around his arms, but pulled his jacket and shirt up over his head as well as they could, since the pack was still in the way. He nearly laughed when he heard the master sergeant cursing them for fools, for not removing the pack first.

Several other soldiers entered the tent at this point. Seeing what was going on, one shook his head and muttered, «_Idioten,_»then reached down and pulled Jim up onto his knees. "Cross your feet," this _Obergefreiter_ instructed, then waited until he'd been obeyed before cutting the wire from Jim's wrists. One of the men who'd come in with him pulled the pack off and out of the commando's reach; another pulled jacket and shirt off over Jim's head. At no time did the rifles covering him waver from their target. Manacles were locked over the bandages on his wrists; only then was the prisoner allowed to regain his feet.

Jim shivered slightly, although the night was still warm, for it was early summer. This was crazy, he thought as the Germans pushed him out of the tent, a towel thrown over his shoulder. No one seemed to care in the least who he was, or what he'd been doing there. Instead, they brought him to their showers, locked a waiting chain onto his manacle-chains, and told him to strip and wash.

They left him alone, but he could hear them waiting just outside the shower area. He sighed and hung his towel over a nearby hook. There was soap, and the water was almost hot. Not knowing what lay in store for him, or when he would have such an opportunity again, he showered as instructed. It wasn't easy in handcuffs, but the chain between them was unusually long, as if made specifically for this use. He managed.

There were a clean pair of shorts and an undershirt from his pack waiting once he'd gotten as dry as he could with the scratchy towel he'd been given. Not his own uniform trousers, though, he saw, but a pair of German work trousers. He hesitated over putting those on, but one of his guards grinned. "It iz no trick; you vill not a spy be called. Bad enough to be _kommando_, _ja?"_

Jim just shook his head and pulled on the offered clothing. They could shoot him whenever they wanted, and no one could stop them. But they just brought him back to that first tent and offered him some bread and cheese, and a cup of ersatz coffee. They seemed to be in no hurry to bring him to their captain.

Finally, a last man entered the tent. «He will be ready for him soon, now,» he announced to the group. Apparently this was what two of the others had been waiting for; they brought their charge across the yard to the farmhouse, entering through the rear door and bringing him straight upstairs, to a bedroom.

There was a set of padded handcuffs waiting there, with the normal short length of chain between the cuffs, and a length of chain at the head of the bed. He nearly panicked then, at the thought of what he might be expected to tolerate at that German captain's hands, but he got a grip on himself. The Germans were really rough on homosexuals, having no tolerance for them. He wasn't sure just what was going on here, but he couldn't believe that all these men would quietly accept... no, make that actively aid any officer who blatantly exhibited those tendencies. He would have to wait and see if he hoped to survive, never mind have a chance for escape.

His escorts had felt him tense when he saw the setup there; he could feel their grip tighten on him as they anticipated a fight. They weren't any rougher, though, when he offered no resistance as they exchanged one set of manacles for the other and chained him to the head of the bed. They took the work trousers from him, leaving him to settle under the covers in just his undershirt and shorts. Then, dimming the lamp, they left him alone to wait for their captain.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_Hauptmann_ Johann Dekker set his completed report aside and stretched, glancing at the mantle clock in the room he'd made his temporary office. Nearly 2300 hours, and time for him to call it a day. He was tired... No, be truthful with yourself, Johann, he admonished himself; he was nearly exhausted past bearing, for the nightmares had started again, precluding sleep. He hated this weakness in himself and hated the only solution that he'd found, but there it was. At least he _had_ found a solution, of sorts. He reached down to pet the dog that leaned devotedly against his legs, looking up at him with liquid brown eyes. She was the latest in a long line of dogs: companions that had helped him retain what little sanity he had left. When under little to no stress, the dog was adequate to keep the nightmares at bay, but now...

This had been his third tour on the Eastern Front, and the worst of the lot. No furloughs save one, either, when his enemy had been on leave himself, and not there to deny him relief. But it had been a long time, and something had to be done. So he had tried... other means, and discovered a worse problem: He talked in his sleep.

He could not just let his night-companions walk away, carrying who-knew-what classified information divulged in his sleep, and he could not bring himself to slaughter relatively innocent women, women who'd not really wanted to sleep with him anyway. That left him even less choice, until he thought of captive enemies. He was no homosexual; all he needed was companionship, a warm body in the darkest hours of the night. _Any_ body would do for that, he'd realized, and if an enemy heard something he shouldn't, or gave him too much trouble---well, that was what bullets were for, after all.

And so he had survived, after a fashion. It was hard, though; if that louse of a general learned of it, he would twist it to its worst interpretation, destroying him once and for all. His men, though, were loyal to _him,_ and would not betray him. They knew the signs, when he needed relief, and had always managed to bring in some captive for him without undue comment. He, in turn, took care of his men, trying always to preserve their lives as much as possible, and obtain what comforts he could for them.

This farm, for example: they _should_ have continued for another twenty miles, but that would have left them in rough, forested hills, without good water. By stopping here, they had defensible fields, adequate wood for their cookfires, and a small fordable river on the far side of the wood-lot. The farm itself had a deep well with sweet water. So he had stopped them here and had notified his superiors. To his surprise, they had concurred, leaving him in place. And just as well, or they would not have captured that enemy commando. Perhaps he would ask about their target, for there were bound to be more than just the one man. Or perhaps not. He would decide tomorrow, after he had seen what his men might catch in the light of day. Now, though, it was time for bed, and the comfort, and _sleep,_ which he hoped to find tonight.

He climbed the stairs, the dog at his heels, walking softly so as not to wake his second-in-command. _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich was fairly new to his command and did not approve of his "habits," as the man referred to his use of prisoners. Sigmund Kimmich did not understand how it was with him, but at least he'd held his tongue so far and had not reported Dekker to their superiors. Just as well, Dekker thought with a grim chuckle; the men would probably frag Kimmich, as the Americans put it, if he did anything against their beloved captain.

Dekker paused at the door to his room, hoping that this man would be quiet. His room was somewhat isolated, a later addition located over a newer, larger kitchen-wing that had been added to the house at some point, but sound could still carry embarrassingly. He didn't want trouble with Kimmich, but he needed at least several full nights of sleep. Gathering himself mentally for a fight, he opened his door and quietly eased inside.

As expected, his men had the _Kommando_, a sergeant, already inside and waiting for him. He studied the powerful frame: heavy-boned and well muscled, a wrestler rather than a runner, Dekker thought to himself. This man could be very dangerous, even chained as he was. But he lay there relaxed, seemingly not concerned over his situation. _Very interesting,_ Dekker mused as he moved to the other side of the bed to ready himself for sleep.

On nights such as this, he used no orderly, so removing his tall boots was a bit of a struggle, but he was used to this. His 'companions' fought less when there were no witnesses to their shame, so the inconvenience was worth it. Undressing down to his underwear, he slipped beneath the blankets and eased his body toward the stranger. Extending one arm, he ordered the prisoner to come to him. To his surprise, after a brief hesitation, the man complied, shifting to allow Dekker to drape one arm over his chest, while the other slipped beneath the pillow on which his head rested. Dekker pulled him closer, pushing him over more towards his stomach and pinning him in place with his right leg. Then he sighed and let his own body relax. After a few minutes, when he made no attempt to do anything more, he heard the _Kommando_ chuckle softly.

"What, I'm just a big teddy bear?" the man asked, laughter in his voice.

Dekker felt a brief flash of annoyance, but the humor of the situation struck him too. "You vould vish me to do more?" he inquired, more to see what sort of response he'd get than anything else.

"Hell, no!" the _Kommando_ laughed back. "This is bad enough."

"Go to sleep, then, zo I may sleep alzo," Dekker growled back at his companion, although he wasn't really irritated. This man _could_ have been difficult, and he still could be, although Dekker was starting to doubt that. He could feel another quiet chuckle, although the man said nothing more. Shortly thereafter, the German could feel his breathing change slightly, causing him to wonder: The man had gone to sleep, held there in that vulnerable position! Amazing!

Slowly then, Dekker let himself relax, courting sleep himself. It would be a good night, after all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jim heard the footsteps hesitate just outside the door, but he forced himself to lie calm and loose. Whatever would happen, he could do little to prevent it. If he fought, he could well end up chained so tightly that he'd stand no chance of escape at all. He watched out the corner of one eye as the door opened and the _Hauptmann_ entered.

The light in the room may have been dim, but it was brighter than the moonlight had been, and he could see that the man looked awful, his face exhausted and drawn, huge circles under his eyes. Didn't he ever sleep? But Jim kept silent, watching as the man sat on a bedside chair and struggled to remove his high boots unassisted. That done, he removed his shirt, brushed his teeth at a basin of water on a stand against the far wall, and blew out the kerosene lamp.

A rustle of cloth told of uniform trousers being shed, then the bed dipped as the German eased his weight onto it and slid beneath the covers. Jim fought his natural reaction to pull away as he felt the other man's body heat coming near.

"Come _hier_," the German ordered in a soft, almost gentle tone. Jim considered refusing, but only for a moment. This was a bad situation; resistance at this point would only make things worse. He shifted slightly on the bed, allowing his captor to slip one arm beneath his head. He did not fight as he was pulled closer to the other man, but allowed himself to be lightly pinned by one leg. Then nothing.

He hadn't been sure what to expect, but this… he couldn't prevent the chuckle that escaped him. It angered the German, but only briefly, for the man quickly relaxed again. After being reassured that this was all that had been intended, Jim let himself fall into an uneasy sleep.

The room was hot and stuffy, for the windows had been kept shut, no doubt to minimize any possible noise. But it made sleeping hard, and Jim found himself waking every time his companion moved. Apparently the German found the small room too hot also, for he soon kicked the covers off and rolled to the far side of the bed. Jim thought he'd get some sleep then, but the captain moaned and started to thrash about, clearly in the grip of some sort of nightmare. Jim was about to say something, in the hopes of bringing him out of it, when one of the German's flailing hands brushed against his shoulder. Immediately he rolled toward Jim, throwing his right arm around the sergeant's chest and clinging to him the way a drowning man would to a piece of flotsam. Slowly his breathing eased, his muscles relaxed, and Jim understood why he was there. He kept very still, careful not to wake the now-quietly sleeping German, until he, too, drifted off to sleep once more.

He woke again in the early morning, his back warm, but his front side chilled. The captain crowded against him, forced to one side by the brown dog, which now stretched out against its master's back. _A German sandwich,_ Jim thought wryly as he tried to ease cramped leg muscles. He only succeeded in waking his captor, who stretched briefly, then renewed his grip on the _Kommando_, not speaking.

Jim lay quietly a moment longer, but… "Hey, how about a latrine break?" he asked, his voice pitched low. "It's been a long night." He looked over his shoulder, trying to judge how his companion was receiving that news.

"Hmmm, I suppoze you should be allowed that," the captain replied, his voice still relaxed as he released his grip on the other man. "You vill find a pot _unter_ the side ovf the bed, ivf you feel vith your foot. That should help, _ja?"_ He rolled onto his back, allowing Jim the illusion of privacy to relieve himself. "_Und_ you slept vell?" the German inquired cautiously, glancing over as he felt Jim's weight settle back down onto the bed. He stretched his arm out again; Jim lay back against him, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

"Not too bad, once you quit thrashing. You have those nightmares often, sir?" He watched as the German stiffened, then snorted briefly in disgust.

"Zo, you know about that, now, do you? Vhat else do you t'ink you know?" he demanded in a deceptively casual tone.

Jim wasn't fooled; this was somehow dangerous ground, and he needed to tread very carefully indeed. "Well, I _know_ you have nightmares. I also know that you settled back down again once you regained contact; you'd rolled away, to the far side of the bed. It was pretty warm in here, so…" Jim paused as a mildly disgusted look crossed the lean face of the German.

"It iz varmer here than in Ruzzia. I am not uzed to that yet. Ve are chust back, two dayz ago." The young _offizier_ paused to see what his _Kommando_ would make of that tidbit of information.

Jim just nodded. "That's why Intel didn't know you were here, then. That figures; my luck runs that way," he added with a dry chuckle, then sighed. "You need someone to sleep with to keep the nightmares away. What I can't figure is why you don't sleep with a girl. You're clearly not a homosexual; your men wouldn't tolerate that, and this is clearly an ongoing problem."

The explanation was a softly spoken bombshell. "I do not like to shoot vomen."

"Shoot…" Jim repeated involuntarily, then caught himself, still staring over his shoulder at the German.

"I vill keep you, until you givf me too much trouble, or bekome inconfenient. The longezt, to date, that I haf kept anyvon _vas_ fife dayz. They tend to become difficult, vonce they get bored."

"Right." Jim paused, then tried a different tack. "Look, you don't _have_ to shoot me when you get sick of me. You could just turn me in to the authorities. I swear I won't tell them anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"Be qviet, _und_ lie still. If you lazt efen t'ree dayz I vill be surprized." He pulled Jim up close again and tried to relax, but he knew he had to get up. He had his men to see to, and everything else that went along with his command. He couldn't afford even a minor slip-up. With a regretful sigh, he pushed himself up in the bed and ran a hand across his companion's shoulders. «_Zu Namen?_»he asked, something he rarely did anymore, for he'd found it better not to know names when he had to dispose of one.

"Brewster, James Allen, Staff Sergeant, SAS, 5870469.

"Vell, Brewzter, Chamez Allen, _I_ _mus_' start my day. Somevon vill be in _f__ü__r_ you in a bit, _und_ you vill be fed if you givf them no trouble. _Vehrsteh?"_

«_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann, ich verstehen,_» Jim replied without thinking, his accent better than passable. He caught himself, but it was clear that his slip had been noticed.

"So, you speak Cherman. Fery interezting. I vill haf to see vhat other surprizez you hide." He actually smiled then, a true smile that reached his pale eyes, not cold or cruel. "Behavf yourzelf, Sergeant, _und_ I vill see you later." He rose and opened the bedroom door just wide enough for the dog to slip out, then closed it and pulled clean underwear from his pack. He left then, returning freshly shaven, in a clean, pressed uniform. He gathered up his papers and peaked cap, glanced once in Jim's direction, then turned and left the room without another word.

Jim half sat up, leaning against the head of the bed, his cuffed hands clasped behind his head. He pondered what he'd learned of his captor and what it might mean for him and the others.

_That_ was a problem, for the rest of his squad would be following after him tonight. He hoped that they'd detect the Germans before they ran into them as he had. Obviously a number of units had shifted positions without Allied Intelligence knowing about it. Jim wondered how many other units like his had walked into troops that weren't where they were thought to be. Definitely shoddy work on Intel's part, he thought morosely.

The two guards made no attempt to be silent as they approached the _Hauptmann's_ room. They had had long experience dealing with such and knew that it was best to give their charges time to register their approach. This one especially; he would not be one to take chances with, or to take by surprise.

They found him sitting up, looking relaxed and showing no signs of self-consciousness. And, even better, no bruises. Apparently this one had gotten along well with the _Herr Hauptmann; _that was clearly supported by the fact that their _Offizier_ had looked rested for a change.

Jim watched them come in and wondered if the rough stuff and questioning would start now. There was no sense looking for trouble, though, so he stayed loose and easy, willing to wait and see.

One of the guards stood well back while the other carefully approached the side of the bed. Showing only reasonable caution, he reached over with key in hand and released Jim's right wrist from the manacles, holding onto the wrist itself until he was actually stepping back from the bed. He turned and retrieved the work trousers from the small table where they'd been left, neatly folded, the night before. These he passed to the captive _Kommando_ and stepped back once more.

Jim eased off the bed, keeping a wary eye on the closer guard. Apparently this was allowed, so he quickly pulled the trousers on and fastened them. He looked at his guards for further instructions, if any. The German, a common S_oldat --- _No; he was a _Panzershütze, _no _common_ soldier, that _--- _grinned at him in approval. «_Gut. _You will now face the Bed and kneel.»

Well, Jim thought, that made sense. He turned and was starting to go to his knees when he realized that he'd been instructed in German. He shook his head in disgust, but knelt there quietly, crossing his feet at the ankles as he'd been ordered the previous evening.

The _Panzershütze,_ Günter Wenigmann, grinned at his companion. «It would seem that _Gefreiter_ Hinkes was correct, Walther,» he said to the other guard. «He _does_ speak German.»

«That _would _be useful in his Line of Work, Günter,» the second guard replied offhandedly. «Get him cuffed, will you? He's got to be hungry by now.»

«_Jawohl, Herr Obergefreiter_,»the first guard laughed, obviously good friends with his senior to take such liberties. But he wasted no more time in securing the prisoner's wrists once more, then helped him to rise to his feet and turned him towards the door.

They hustled him down the stairs, as if hoping to avoid someone, but luck was not with them that morning.

«What is this?» a stern voice called sharply, halting the group in its tracks. A stiff-looking _Oberleutnant_ stalked toward them, and Jim saw unhappy looks pass between his two guards.

"Who is that?" he risked asking softly and was surprised actually to get an answer, hurriedly muttered before the _Offizier_ could get close enough to hear.

_"Herr Oberleutnant Kimmich,_ second-in-command," the _Panzershütze _told Jim, then fell silent as he and his companion snapped to attention.

«A Prisoner, _Herr Oberleutnant,_»the _Obergefreiter_ responded, but he offered no further information.

«So, he continues his disgusting Habits,» the lieutenant said, contempt dripping from his tone. It was more than Jim could stand.

"He isn't, you know, sir." Jim looked the older officer straight in the eyes, ready to do verbal battle.

«_Was?_»the man gasped, taken by surprise at this unexpected defense.

"I said, sir, that he isn't." Jim paused to be certain that he had the other's undivided attention. "The captain is _not_ a homosexual. I don't know quite what-all _is_ going on, but I can tell you from experience what he's _not."_ He intentionally used English, for there was something he didn't like or trust about this German. The man looked at him, shocked so thoroughly speechless that he didn't object when the two _Panzersoldaten_ hustled their charge out the back door of the farmhouse and back toward the previous night's tent.

"You vould do bezt your head _und_ foice down to keep around the _Oberleutnant_ _vor_ _der _next few dayz," the _Obergefreiter_ advised. He carefully looked over his shoulder, to be certain that they were out of earshot.

"Yeah, well, I didn't like that lieutenant," Brewster answered, his voice hard and relentless. "I don't know what the captain's problem is, but he's no queer. You men know it, and so do I." He realized abruptly that he'd best shut up, and did.

The two Germans exchanged glances, then grinned.

«_Hauptmann _Dekker is a good _Offizier,_» the _Obergefreiter, _Eberbach, observed quietly. «Most in your Position do not appreciate him, unfortunately. _They_ die sooner, rather than later. But they usually last long enough to do him some good, and the Dog works until we can get him another.»

Jim gave a soft laugh. «Yeah, well, I'd much rather be in the 'later' Category. How long has he been like this? If you don't mind me asking.»

«I have been with him since the Beginning, the _Blitz_ into Poland.» Eberbach was solemn now. «He has always had some Trouble, but, since Russia, it is worse. The Dog was not enough in Russia. He tried Women, at first…»

«…But he doesn't like to shoot Women,» Jim finished with a nod. «He said that much this Morning.»

«No. He does not. But we do not discuss this further.» Eberbach threw a worried glance at the _Kommando_, but their prisoner gave a slight nod of acquiescence. They were nearing the tent now, and there was no knowing how many spies _Generaloberst _Lasch had here in their midst. He could only hope that the prisoner would hold his tongue.

"Vhat iz your name?" Eberbach asked, suddenly curious, even though he knew it was a bad idea to get to know any of Dekker's 'companions' well.

«His Identity Disks say he is called Brewster,» O_berfeldwebel _Seidel called from the tent's entrance. «You had Trouble?»

«No, _Herr Oberfeldwebel,_» Eberbach answered, then paused. «Or, not with the Prisoner, anyway. His German is very good, did you know? Better, even, than _Hauptmann_ Dekker's _Englisch._»

«The trouble was with…?» Seidel cut in impatiently.

«_Oberleutnant_Kimmich. The usual, _Herr __Oberfeldwebel,_» Wenigmann answered. «But _Unterfeldwebel_ Brewster spoke up for _Hauptmann_ Dekker against him. I think our _Hauptmann_ likes this One; he looks better this Morning.»

Even Brewster looked surprised at the respect to be heard in the _Panzershütze's_ voice. But Seidel shook his head in warning. «Careful what you say, Wenigmann. Tent Walls are thin, and unfriendly Ears are everywhere.

«Bring the _Amerikaner_ to the Mess Tent, since he is no Trouble. Just be careful with him,» _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel admonished. «Do not take Chances with him, just because you've decided you like him.»

Wenigmann nodded and started to turn his prisoner, but paused, seeing Brewster shiver with the morning's chill. «One moment; have his Clothes been cleared? He looks cold,» the _Panzershütze_ said to his sergeant.

Seidel looked at their prisoner and nodded. «Go on; I will have someone bring a Shirt for him to you at the Mess Tent. I do not want him unsecured any longer than absolutely necessary.»

«_Jawohl, Herr Oberfeldwebel._» Jim's two guards answered in unison, then they led him away toward another large tent.

They fed him a good-size chunk of black bread with some sort of spread, some cheese, and more of the ersatz _Kaffe_ from the previous night. He sat quietly and ate what he was given without complaint, although he'd had better. He'd also had worse, he acknowledged to himself, and they might not even have fed him at all. The mess tent wasn't much warmer than the outside, and he was cold until a regular infantry _Soldat_ arrived with one of his spare shirts. The guards wouldn't unchain him; they only laid the shirt over his shoulders. Again he made no complaint, being grateful for even that much consideration.

He listened to the conversations around him, carefully not reacting to anything he heard. That lasted all of ten minutes, until he caught one of his guards watching him and grinning knowingly. He just grinned back and shrugged, then listened openly. And, truth to tell, there was no information of any importance being spread, unless you counted the number of times these men had been sent to fight on the Eastern Front. Jim couldn't help wondering if that was normal, but he wasn't going to ask about it in public like this.

They let him sit and savor the 'coffee,' and, as those things went, this brew wasn't bad. It was better than some of the acorn stuff they served in England.

Jim went with them when they urged him to his feet. He was still expecting to be knocked around, at the very least, but they kept him off balance with their care of him. He was finally brought to a small machine shed and locked to an old rusted truck body by a long chain with one shackle on his left leg. They gave him two warm blankets, for padding more than any chill, a canteen of water, and an old lidded paint can in the back corner for a urinal, then left him alone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It had felt late as he had lain in bed, but a check of his watch had actually shown it to be a bit earlier than he usually rose. He felt good, he realized, with a bounce to his step that had been missing for the past three weeks. Usually it took more than one good night to re-energize him, but last night...

Dekker realized that he almost had an affinity for this American-born sergeant that had never been present before. He wondered about that, but kept on down the stairs and headed over to the mess tent.

He didn't have to go there for his meals; his orderly could have brought his food to the house for him, or he could have had someone cook especially for him and perhaps for some of his lieutenants. He'd used to do so, but since the arrival of Kimmich...

The man had been assigned to him to spy on him, he was nearly certain; it was the sort of thing that _Generaloberst_ Lasch would do. He could only assume that Kimmich was still gathering evidence and wasn't ready to report his 'deviant' behavior yet. Eventually, he'd get sent to a death camp for it, if he wasn't outright executed. It wasn't fair, but then, life itself hadn't been fair ever since that long-ago night when he'd been eight---but it did no good to dwell on that; it wouldn't change the fact that he was stuck with the good _Oberleutnant._

So he went to the mess tent for his meals. That meant that Kimmich had to do so also, which irritated the man greatly. It pleased the troops, though, and Dekker smiled at that thought. They didn't care for Kimmich, either, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Kimmich wanted a staff position, preferably in Berlin or Paris. He'd _hated_ this last tour in Russia. A pity the _Bolshies_ hadn't managed to shoot the bas---

Nothing, it seemed, would ruffle his good mood this morning. He was actually smiling as he entered the mess tent and took salutes from two of his junior lieutenants. His smile faded a bit when he was approached by Kimmich's orderly, carrying a small serving tray with two cups and a pot containing coffee; the real thing, by the smell.

«_Kaffe, Herr Hauptmann?_» the _Soldat_ asked politely. «It is from _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich's personal Goods.»

«And have the Men been given this also?» Dekker demanded, irritated by this gesture. He ate what his men did, did not believe in elitist behavior. His men were all, or nearly all, former _Waffen-_SS and thus elite by definition. They deserved the good things in life and had been denied them. So he, too, did without, unless there happened to be enough to share with them. They knew this and loved him for it, for they also knew that he did not do this to curry favor with them.

«No, _Herr Hauptmann. _There's only this Pot, and a second for you.» The orderly looked uncomfortable, for he'd been with Dekker before Kimmich had joined them.

«Not your Fault, Hans. If you are asked, you may say that I took the Pot given me. Go see to him. Dismissed.»

«_Danke, Herr Hauptmann,_» the orderly responded, glad not to be blamed for his officer's baiting of the captain. He suspected, but would not tell, what the captain would do with that coffee, and he grinned to himself. But he left on his own duties and would not actually see, so he could not be blamed if Kimmich found out.

Dekker's irritation changed to an unusual mischievous glee as he headed for the serving counter. His own orderly, Oskar, had his breakfast dished out for him; the plate sat at his small table at one side of the tent. Dekker went and retrieved the unpoured pot of Real Coffee and carried it to the large urn of _ersatz_ brew the men would be given. He handed it to one of the cooks; without a word, the man accepted the small pot and solemnly added it to the contents of the urn. Word would pass among the men, and all would get their share of this treat, diluted though it was. That was how it was in his battalion: All shared in the spoils, as well as in the dangers.

He sat at his table, accepting a cup of the augmented brew from his orderly with a smile. As he ate, he glanced around, nodding to one of his lieutenants. Not the one he wanted, though, for this morning's work.

Dekker was halfway through his breakfast when the man he wanted came in, _Oberfeldwebel _Seidel at his side. Dekker smiled warmly as the two men came over to his table and came to attention. They saluted, relaxing when he returned their salutes and told them to sit. It was out of character for him, this informality, and he wondered at himself, but today it just Felt Right.

«Karl, I will need you to get a large Patrol together; we must backtrack that _Kommando_ we took last Night and find how many Others there are,» Dekker told the young _Offizier _before him, _Leutnant_ Doebrich. «Take only experienced Men---Third Squad, I think might be best.

«I will need you to stay here and watch over my _Kommando_ today, Fritz. Protect him as best you can from Kimmich.» Dekker grimaced slightly, but _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel nodded in understanding. He would have preferred to go along, but the squad had a good _Feldwebel;_ he could be trusted to look out for _Hauptmann_ Dekker.

«Eat your Breakfast, then get the Men together. We leave in thirty Minutes.»

Doebrich nodded, then rose and saluted. He would waste no time in carrying out his orders; he knew that _Hauptmann_ Dekker wanted to be gone before Kimmich could finish his own breakfast and appear to plague his commanding _Offizier._

The men were ready and on their way in twenty minutes. While they _were_ a _Panzer_ battalion, or the remains of one, they had been forced to function as infantry in Russia often enough that many of the men had become quite competent on foot. For the work at hand, it was mandatory, for their Panther tanks could be heard quite some distance away, not good for sneaking up on commandos. The men were all veterans, although several were new to Dekker's command, recently arrived replacements. Even the officers had become accustomed to operating on foot, and Dekker pushed the patrol hard.

The woods were easy to traverse in the light of day, so they quickly arrived at the site of the _Kommando's_ capture. Here Dekker had his best scouts follow the trail back, to look for any spot where Brewster might have lingered and try to puzzle out why. Not far from where the _Amerikaner_ had first been spotted was just such a place; a small patch of paint on a small peeled area of a tree trunk showed where he'd marked his trail. Dekker grinned, but he knew definitely, now, that someone would be following Brewster's trail, right into his waiting lap.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Private Lewis Carson sneered at the retreating back of Corporal Kevin McKeigh. He'd just relieved the corporal on sentry duty, but it was clearly a useless assignment. Yes, they were in German territory, well behind the front lines, but they had seen nothing all night and nothing the day before. Their forward scout had not called back to warn of any trouble ahead. Intelligence said this area was deserted. Carson saw no reason for this duty, except maybe that Lieutenant Markham was an old woman, afraid of his own shadow. Carson had not been with this commando squad very long, being a last-minute replacement for a man who'd pulled a hamstring in training. They had needed a radio operator, though, so he'd been pulled from his nice, safe teaching slot and thrown back out into the field. He deeply resented losing his comforts, so he sat at the base of a tree in the warming afternoon sun, with his mind on anything but his duty.

"'Talk to you, Lieutenant?" McKeigh called quietly as he entered the squad's bivouac area. He was very unhappy, and it showed.

"Sure thing; what's the problem?" Lieutenant Samuel Markham looked up from the rifle he was cleaning. It was a German weapon, a Mauser, the thought being that they could replenish their ammunition from captured stores more easily than they could carry too much of their own. He set the weapon down after seeing the look on his corporal's face.

"It's Carson, Lieutenant," McKeigh said reluctantly. "I'm beginning to think that Jimmy was right; we'd be better off a man short."

"Oh, come on, Kevin," Markham scoffed softly. "Just give him time. You know every new guy takes a while to work in, especially in a group like ours. He'll be fine in a week or so."

"I don't know, sir," McKeigh persisted, going formal to try to show the extent of his unease. "He acts like he don't _want_ to fit, know what I mean? Like everything you ask him to do should be taken as a personal favor, never mind it's stuff we all gotta do. Like standing watch just now. You'd'a thought I'd told him to shovel out a barn, or something."

Markham just shook his head. "He's not Thomas, true. Give him a chance, Kevin. Look, you go get some sleep; I'll check on him myself in a little bit, okay? It's broad daylight; he'll see any Krauts coming 'way before they get near us. Perelli will have the watch at dusk; then we can get moving again. There's probably no one around; that's what Intelligence said. Besides, he's a veteran now; he won't goof off. Not in the middle of Indian-land."

"Yessir. If you say so." Kevin knew when he'd been beat. And, truth to tell, the lieutenant was probably right. He glanced over to where Perelli peacefully slept in the shade of a large beech tree, at Davidson curled up and snoring, at Connolly darning a fresh hole in one sock, and he prayed that the lieutenant was right as he went to settle himself for his own rest. He'd need the sleep tonight, and worrying now wouldn't help them then. Besides, worrying was what lieutenants got the big bucks for.

In the warmth of the early afternoon, the peace and quiet of the breeze soughing through the branches, he drifted off to sleep. So did Lt. Markham, in a small hollow, so that Connolly didn't realize that he was now the only one still awake.

Carson had gone to sleep long before.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sheltering behind a clump of brush, the German soldier tapped his companion's arm and indicated that he would circle to the left. He would come in from behind his target, who sat against a small tree. The man had his head tilted back, snoring in the afternoon sun. There was no sign of any others in the immediate area; surely this wasn't a sentry! Sleeping on duty?!

The _Oberschütze_ shook his head in disgust. That offense could get you shot in his army; the SS, especially, took a dim view of such dereliction of duty. While he might not be SS any longer, at least officially, that was how he still thought of himself and how he did his duty. He fully intended to see to it that this sleeping sentry would pay with his life. A few minutes more, six yards forward, then a sharp knife across that exposed throat...

He was new to _Hauptmann_ Dekker's command, former SS infantry reassigned as replacement infantry support for the Panzers, who'd also been SS once. Things were different here; there was an unusual tension within the unit, seeming to be most prevalent when the second-in-command was around. The other men clearly did not like him for some reason, although nowhere was it said that you _had _to like your _Offizieren. _The others, though, were utterly devoted to their _Hauptmann._ He was beginning to understand why and to share in that regard for his commander. Dekker was unusual, to say the least, though, and had seemed to be under some great stress lately. Now, today, all seemed fine with his world.

Again Müller shook his head, then put those thoughts aside as he drew closer to his target. He crept up behind the tree, put one hand over the sleeper's mouth, and, with a quick swipe of his blade, put paid to one _Amerikanischer K__ommando_. He grinned at the thought, but the grin quickly faded at the rebuke from his companion.

«What did you kill him for?» Schmidt, the _Feldwebel,_ hissed in irritation. «We can't question a Dead Man. And _Hauptmann_ Dekker may have wanted that One alive also.» Müller was about to respond when Schmidt shook his head, disgusted. «It's done, now. We go on. But try to take any Others alive. I'll explain later, since no one else has, obviously. Just know that it is Very Important. All right?»

Müller nodded, forcing his resentment to melt away. He would wait and hear this explanation; then he would decide. Now, though, there was still the job at hand to claim his concentration. Together they slipped on through the bushes on the gentle slope, silent as the breeze.

Others of their group also moved forward, checking carefully for any Allied soldiers. It was the sound of gentle snoring that tipped them off that they were getting close. There, finally, their quarry was in sight, four men spread across a small clearing. Three were clearly asleep, including the snorer; one was concentrating on some small task at hand...darning a sock? All was peaceful, quiet.

Carefully, the Germans moved in, until there was a team of two men nearly touching each of the sleepers. A team waited nearby to pounce on the final man.

They moved, taking the four men completely by surprise, although the one-striper had looked up, warned too late by some sixth sense that all was not right. There was a scuffle, short and fairly quiet, but it woke a fifth man who'd slept a short way off in a hollow at one side of the clearing. That one froze at the touch of Dekker's Mauser pistol at the back of his head, accompanied by a softly spoken warning to be still.

The area was carefully searched by the rest of the squad while the prisoners were restrained; then, there being no one else in the area, they headed back to the rest of the brigade. The body of the slain sentry was checked for papers, then wrapped in a blanket and carried back on a makeshift stretcher by two of his comrades, their hands and wrists bound to the stretcher-shafts with wire so they could not easily escape.

One of the men carrying the stretcher looked over at the captured _Offizier,_ a _leutnant_, and scowled. "Still think Carson will work in, _sir?"_ he asked, sarcastically emphasizing the honorific.

Apparently, Dekker thought, they had had words about this dead man earlier, for the lieutenant looked down and darkened slightly. He did not answer the corporal's question, though, and Dekker found that significant.

Those were the only words spoken by any of the captives all the way back to camp. They were pushed hard, allowed little time to rest, for Dekker wanted to be back before dark. He was worried for _his_ _Kommando_, as he thought of Brewster, worried that Kimmich would shoot him, despite his orders. Worried, because the _Kommandobefehl_ had never been repealed. That these new prisoners suffered was of little concern to him, for they were spares. He had made none of them his, yet. It had been a mistake to learn Brewster's name, but he had done it; now he would suffer if anything happened to the _Amerikaner_ by another's hand.

So he pushed their return, arriving shortly after the evening meal. O_berfeldwebel_ Seidel had obviously been waiting for their return, for he met the patrol not far inside the inner perimeter. He came to attention and saluted, but his expression, or rather, lack of obvious concern, reassured Dekker that all was well.

Dekker nodded as he returned the salute; message received. «Take these and confine them... oh, in the Barn, I suppose. I will interview them after I've eaten. See that they do not talk among themselves.»

«_Zu Befehl, Herr Hauptmann_,» Seidel responded, saluting once more, then he took charge of the group and herded the prisoners to their indicated destination.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They were shoved, stumbling, into what looked to have been a farm at one time. Now there were tanks, tents, and supply trucks everywhere. Kevin McKeigh shook his head in disgust. _Intelligence sure blew this one,_ he thought morosely, and they would be the ones paying the price. He thought he'd heard the word for _barn_ in German, but they'd been just far enough away that he'd not been sure. Now, as they approached the large structure, he knew he'd heard correctly. This had been a large prosperous farm at one time, he thought, if one could go by the size of that barn; it was easily three times the size of others he'd seen on earlier forays into Germany.

The two officers, a captain and a lieutenant, had left the patrol, heading toward a large farmhouse and the main part of the camp. Kevin and the others were left in the charge of a senior sergeant who'd met them shortly after crossing the camp boundaries. The man studied them thoughtfully, which McKeigh found odd and rather unsettling. But they went where they were directed, their only other choice being a fatal bullet. That was too likely to occur no matter what they did, but there was no need to rush matters.

McKeigh couldn't help wondering if Sergeant Brewster had walked into these Krauts also, and, if so, if he had survived the experience---unlike Carson, who had gotten nothing more than he had deserved.

The barn was already full of deep shadows with the fading light of the evening. Thick stone walls held winter's chill still, although the floor seemed dry enough. The place had once been set up for horses: the walls were lined with stalls, both of the loose-box and standing varieties. It was into the latter type that the captives were brought, one to a stall. Quick loops of wire secured their already bound wrists to the tether rings at the head of each stall, then they were searched with a thoroughness that let McKeigh know that these Krauts had long experience with prisoners. Several guards with rifles stood out in the broad aisle running between the two rows of stalls, clearly meaning business.

The sergeant in charge finally stood back, satisfied that his charges were adequately secured. He studied them, then frowned. "You vill talk _nicht, oder... _**or** you vill gaggèd be. _Versteh't'?" _he said, struggling with the English sentence. Still, he was clear enough in his meaning, so they stood and waited on the pleasure of their captors, and the barn grew darker as night fell.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hauptmann Dekker pushed away from the table with a contented sigh. Yes, he'd missed dinner in the mess, but that meant that Kimmich had already eaten. His second-in-command would be in a decent mood tonight, for, with the CO gone, he'd been able to eat in the style to which he aspired. He'd had his orderly bring his supper into the old farmhouse's dining room, instead of going out to the mess tent himself. Dekker had done likewise, and admitted to himself that he would have liked to do this more often himself, but then he'd be forced to share his table with Kimmich.

«_Herr Hauptmann_? A Word, Sir?»

Dekker looked up, trying not to scowl. Served him right, thinking of the devil. «Certainly, _Oberleutnant_,» he managed to get out in a relatively civil tone. «What can I do for you tonight?»

Kimmich looked uncomfortable as he entered the room, closing the door behind himself. «Sir, I believe that I have behaved very poorly towards you,» he began, obviously struggling with his words. «I find that I have… jumped to faulty Conclusions, without trying to find the Truth behind Appearances. I have let myself be influenced by the… Ire… of another.» He was red-faced now, stopping only at Dekker's upraised hand.

«Enough, _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich. It is best _not _to speak of Ire from _that _Direction, unless you wish it turned upon yourself also. Yes, I know that you have been assigned to me for a Purpose. That is not your Fault. As to the Other… call it a By-Product of that same Person's Ire. I have lived with that Fact for the Better Part of my Life, though what a Child could have done to draw such… but never mind.

«Your Apology is accepted. I am somewhat curious, though, to know what caused this Change of Mind.»

Kimmich actually grinned. «You have a very fierce and very unlikely Advocate. Not someone you could threaten to your Side, I think. A dangerous Man to have as an Enemy, nor one _I _would be brave enough to toy with.»

Dekker shrugged while trying to puzzle out who would have been bold enough to stand up to the _Oberleutnant_ for him. Not even _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel would do such a thing, and _he_ was as loyal a man as an _Offizier _could wish for. There was only one other possibility, so far outside the realms of likelihood that Dekker nearly dismissed the notion. But what was that saying? _When all other possibilities have been ruled out, the unlikely must be the truth?_ He took the chance. «The _Kommando_ is an intelligent Soldier; he could see when there was no need for, and nothing to be gained from, fighting. So his Night was only mildly embarrassing, not painful, and he suffered no Harm.»

A discreet knock at the closed door provided a welcome interruption for Dekker, who'd had enough of the conversation. «You will have to excuse me, _Herr_ Kimmich; I have Prisoners I must question.» He rose and left the building, pretending not to see the look of surprise on the _Oberleutnant's_ face at his chosen mode of address.

A bright moon was rising in the rapidly darkening sky as he reached the old barn. There were lanterns lit inside now, their yellow cast giving a peaceful glow to the place. But the captives, tethered each in his own stall, did not look very peaceful _or_ comfortable. They looked very worried. Dekker grinned to himself; they should have had more than enough time for thought, standing there helpless under the watchful eyes of their guards. The blanket-shrouded body of their comrade, lying in the aisle, would not have calmed their nerves any.

Seidel approached, coming to attention and saluting smartly.

Dekker returned the salute and nodded pleasantly to one of his oldest friends. «Any Trouble with them, Fritz?» he asked, his voice casual as he scanned the prisoners.

«_Nein, Herr Hauptmann_; they are as gentle as Lambs.» _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel replied with a laugh. It was true, though; secured as they were, they could cause no trouble at all.

«Very good. We will start with _that_ one, I think,» Dekker said, indicating one very nervous-looking man. «Bring him down to the farthest Box Stall; I would have a Lantern hung in the Rafters, and something for a Seat.» So saying, the captain turned and strolled casually in the direction of the indicating stall, while men scurried to arrange things as he'd indicated.

His seat was three boxes, stacked against the wall and draped with a blanket to form a backed chair of sorts. Dekker settled himself as comfortably as possible, then nodded to the sentry at the stall door. The _Kommando_ was hustled in and forced to his knees, a loop of wire around his neck ensuring his compliance. Dekker held out his hand, and another _Soldat_ dropped the commando's identity disk into it.

«Hmmm,» the German mused as he examined it. «_Namen_: Davidson, Benjamin, Private. _Soldaten Numer… Blud_…» He looked up suddenly, and over at the prisoner. "Vhat iz thiz _H __für_?"

The man, Davidson, looked close to panic, but didn't answer. Dekker let the guard strike him once for disobedience, then held up a hand and looked to Seidel. «Was there anything else on him?»

The _Oberfeldwebel_ grinned and held up a medallion---no; it was a Star of David, hanging on a chain. «He wore this, _mein Hauptmann_.»

«Ah! So _that_ is what the 'H' is. _And _why he, in particular, is so frightened of us. He is _J__ü__dische_. Does he have any other Papers or Identifications?»

«Nothing unusual; just a Wallet, a few Photos…He is the only one with such a medal; the others all left all Personal Items back at their Base. Or we haven't found them yet.»

«No Matter,» Dekker observed lazily, although he was anything but inside. "So." He shifted his attention back to his prisoner. "You are a Jew. _You_ vill do better to anzwer my qveztionz---do _not_ prate to me about name, rank, _und_ service _numer._ You are not a prizoner of var, you are _my_ prizoner. It iz _not_ the zame t'ing." Dekker had leaned forward as he spoke; now he settled back once more. "But, you vill know nothing ovf value," he continued, his voice scathing. "You are chuzt a private _soldat._ Vhat they say, 'cannon-fodder.' _Und _zo _you_ vill guard your tongue _und_ do vhat you are told. So you might liff a little longer." Then to his master sergeant, «Take him out. He has been thoroughly searched?» he added, though he knew it was an unnecessary question.

«_Jawohl, mein Hauptmann_,» Seidel replied, not insulted in the least. Such attention to detail had kept them alive through Russia. «We have checked _all_ their Clothing and Personal Effects.» He grinned again. «_None_ of them liked the Strip-search.»

«Too bad for them,» Dekker replied coldly. «Put him back in his Stall; tether him there somehow. If he gives the Guards any Trouble, shoot him. Do not harm him unnecessarily; his Leutnant _should_ try to protect him, and his other Men. We keep him for Leverage.

«Bring the next.»

This one was also dark-haired, though with brown eyes, not black ones. He stayed where he was put, unhappy, but not overly nervous. Dekker studied him for a long moment before looking at his identity disk. "Perelli, Anthony, Prifate." He paused, looking up. "_Italiano_?"

"American," the man answered in an even tone, but neglected all honorifics. "An' it's Tony, not Anthony. Sir," he added as he saw a blow from his guard prevented by a quick gesture from the officer before him. That much he'd give him, for that gesture.

Dekker grinned dryly and went back to his study of the disk. "Service number, blood type… Vhat iz 'C'?" he looked up again.

"Catholic," came the short reply, which, in turn, drew a nod from the German.

"Other letterz there vould mean… vhat?" Dekker asked. "I know that 'H' meanz _J__ü__dische_. Davidzon iz that."

"Never thought about it, sir. Just know mine."

It was minor defiance, and Dekker knew it. He let the guard strike this time.

"You do not amuze me. Take care bevfore you annoy me. You are not protekted by the Genevfa Convention, but are condemned under the _Kommandobefehl._ You liff only vhile you do not anger me and are uzeful. Remember that, pazt your aching head," Dekker snapped. "Next."

"Connolly, Larry, …PFC?" Dekker looked at the man before him, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Private First Class---American designation, sir," the wiry man replied, actually sounding respectful. "About like your _Gefreiter,_ sir."

"And you are Irish?"

"No, sir; American." The blue eyes showed intelligence and caution. Dekker decided that perhaps he might like this one, also, if his chosen companion proved difficult. It might be a good idea to keep this Connolly as a spare, although he was slighter-framed than was preferred. But he nodded and waved the man out of the stall and waited for the next.

Two to go. So far, his men had brought the prisoners to him in ascending order of rank. They broke that pattern now, for it was the lieutenant that was brought in next.

Despite his bonds, the man moved with a stately grace, almost regal. He reminded Dekker of some of the aristocratic officers whom he'd met during his career: well bred, but somehow lacking in that special spark that would cause men to die willingly for him. This _leutnant_ had, Dekker recalled, irritated his _Unteroffizier,_ his "corporal," he corrected himself mentally. And none of his men had seemed overly concerned for _his_ well-being while they were being brought back to camp. He couldn't help wondering if they felt the same way about the _Unterfeldwebel… _the sergeant he'd taken the night before. Somehow, he doubted it.

But he let none of this musing show as he coldly studied the man brought before him. Once more he accepted the identity disk, glancing at it briefly. He could read them easily now. "Markham, Samuel, lieutenant-2. He studied the man waiting on his knees. "Not _ein Jude_, but Samuel. Vhat iz 'P'?"

"Protestant." Very short answer; the man clearly didn't like him. Too bad. Dekker didn't particularly like _him,_ either.

"You vill be held responzible for the condukt ovf your men. You had bezt hope that your men care vhat happenz to you, for _I_ do not. You haff all fallen into a hole here; the Genevfa Convention does not apply to you, for you are all kommandoz. It amuzes me to hold you for now; you vill all be shot vhen I tire ovf you. _Versteht_?" Dekker used his coldest look on the man, wondering if he was getting through to him. With a shrug, he looked to the guards and jerked his head. They knew him well and pulled the prisoner up from the ground, dragging him from the stall before he could find his feet.

The last one, the corporal, actually tried to come to attention before the guards put him down on his knees. Another possible keeper, Dekker thought in amusement. He looked at the disk, puzzling over the man's name. "Mk'Kig'eh?" he ventured at last, looking at the prisoner, expecting to see derision in his eyes.

"No, sir," was the polite, correct response. "It's pronounced like 'Mack-Key.' The final 'gh' is silent, sir."

"And that iz vhat? Scotlander? Or Irish?" Dekker found that he was actually interested in the answer.

"The name is Irish, sir, but I'm an American." Still polite, still very militarily correct.

"You had vordz mit your _Leutnant,_ about the vone called Carzon, _nicht wahr?_ Vhat ovfer?"

"Sir, no disrespect intended, but I'd rather not discuss…" He fell silent as the German raised one hand in warning.

"Your objektion is noted, Corporal," Dekker interrupted, his voice sharp. "Now answer the qveztion."

McKeigh looked down briefly and sighed, then met his interrogator's eyes. "I told the lieutenant that I had doubts about Carson; I felt that he wasn't willing to do his share. I was _particularly_ concerned that he wouldn't take sentry-duty seriously. My lieutenant disagreed. Sir."

That dragged a short laugh out of Dekker. "Oh, _ja,_ he vas sleeping on sentry-duty---you vere correkt about that. So vas eferybody elze, but… Connolly, I t'ink. Und zo _you_ all livfed, _und_ he died. Fitting for vone not doing hiz duty.

_"You,_ I approvf ovf. I think you, _und_ Connolly, may livf longer than the rezt. Ve vill see. You vill kontrol the otherz, since I doubt your _Offizier_ can. You vill not givf my men any trouble, or you vill be shot." Dekker rose and headed for the stall door. «Lock him up with the others; if they cause no Trouble, feed them. Otherwise, wait until Morning. They may talk tonight, but quietly only. Keep them in separate Stalls; set a Guard on the ends of the Aisle. They can bury the dead one in the Morning.»

«Yes, Sir,» The guards with McKeigh snapped in unison; then the young captain was gone.

Seidel waited for him just outside the barn. «You wish one of them tonight, sir?»

«No, Fritz,» Dekker answered quickly. «I need another good Night's Sleep, at _least_ one more. I will stay with the Sergeant. He gave no Trouble today? He was fed tonight?»

«He was fed, sir,» Seidel answered with a grin. «He is no Trouble. I do _not_ think that it is out of Fear, either. He is just waiting for his Chance, I think.»

«Oh, yes,» Dekker laughed. «And that one is truly dangerous. Not in the Night, though. I doubt he would attack while I slept. Not now, at least. He is, I think, a complicated Man. Before last Night… But this is now.

«Have someone bring him in; I will be up shortly. First I must see to Schatze.»

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jim Brewster stretched and yawned. It felt like it was getting late; he wondered if he'd been relocated to this shed for the night, too. There had been a minor stir in the camp a bit earlier, but there had been little action after that. He had to laugh at himself at that flash of interest in the camp's life.

But, for now at least, he _was_ a part of the camp, and what affected it, affected him as well, to some extent. He shifted, pulled the blankets around himself more closely, and settled in to see what would happen.

He'd nearly fallen asleep when he'd heard the excited, happy barking of a dog. What…? he wondered, then he remembered the captain's brown dog and grinned. So, the proud German was out playing with his dog.

The shed door opened, but Brewster couldn't make out the faces of the two men silhouetted against the dim light of the camp outside. One stayed in the doorway, probably holding a weapon on him, Jim thought. The other approached, turning on a torch as he came nearer.

«_Guten Abend, Herr Unterfeldwebel. _Are you ready to go in?»

Jim recognized the voice from the morning, the _Panzershütze, _Günter. Again he couldn't quite stop a smile from appearing. «Good Evening to you, too,» he called back. «You my personal Guardian Angel?»

«Guard, yes. Angel, definitely not,» Wenigmann retorted. «Only my _Mutti_ thinks that of me. But come, it is better if you are ready before _Hauptmann_ Dekker. His Temper may be uncertain tonight.»

«Sounds like… what's the Dog called, anyway?» Jim asked as he held his cuffed hands out toward his guard.

«_Hauptmann_ Dekker calls her '_Schatze_.' And, yes, he plays with her; he sees to the needs of _all_ who look to him and serve him loyally.» Although he spoke casually, the young _Soldat's _attention never wavered from his charge. «Leave the Blankets here; you will probably be back Tomorrow.»

Jim nodded, but paused long enough to pick them up from the ground and hang them over part of the old truck's frame. Then he quietly went where he was directed. Off to one side, he could see the dog, Schatze, running madly after a thrown ball. She reached it and turned back towards Dekker, then paused. To everyone's surprise, she altered her course, bringing the ball over and placing it at Jim's feet. She stood back, expectantly eyeing the captive _Kommando_, her tail wagging.

He bent and picked up the ball; the dog tensed, ready to run after it. Carefully, he stepped clear of his guards, then threw for the dog. She took off with a joyous _yip,_ making Jim chuckle and shake his head.

«She thinks well of you,» the _Obergefreiter_ with them said. «She has never done that before. But _raus_ now, or _Hauptmann_ Dekker will be irritated with you. You do _not_ want that.»

«No, I don't think I do,» Jim agreed, continuing in the direction of the latrines and bathhouse.

Twenty minutes saw him freshened up and heading for the farmhouse. Pale lamplight leaked through not-quite-closed blackout curtains in one of the upper rooms. Not, Jim noted, Dekker's bedroom. They headed up the back stairs once more, again trying to keep the noise down. Apparently, though, someone was actively listening, for one of the other doors opened as they reached the upper landing, and _Oberleutnant _Kimmich stuck his head out to see who was there. He nodded to himself, then silently withdrew and closed his door again.

«_Scheiße!_»_ Obergefreiter_ Eberbach muttered as they escorted their charge to Dekker's bedroom.

Jim waited until the door closed behind them. «He's spying on the Captain, isn't he? Why?»

The two Germans exchanged uneasy glances before Eberbach answered. _«Hauptmann_ Dekker has an Enemy. We are nearly certain that the Oberleutnant was sent here by him.»

«Ohh, boy,» Jim muttered, dropping down onto the edge of the bed. «And now he's keeping me here, _in_ here, at Night. Wonderful. No wonder he's trying so hard to 'catch him in deviant Behavior.' You guys haven't fragged him yet? How long's he been with your Unit?»

_"Fragged?" _Wenigmann repeated the English word as he locked the chain onto Brewster's manacle-links.

«Umm, 'accidentally' taken him out with 'friendly Fire.' Or doesn't he go near the fighting?»

«He fights, and leads, well enough. He is no Coward.» Eberbach was forced to defend the second-in-command. «And at least we know about him.

«The Trousers, also, if you would.»

Brewster thought about resisting, but he suddenly heard footsteps on the stairway. «He's coming,» he said as he shucked the trousers and tossed them to the private, then slipped under the covers.

Wenigmann caught them and quickly folded them, then he and the _Obergefreiter_ turned to leave. The door opened just as they reached it, the brown dog bounding through to make a flying leap up onto the bed. Tail wagging furiously, she wriggled her way up the bed until she flopped down on top of Jim. With his hands chained, he was helpless to do anything but laugh.

«Here, now, are you supposed to be doing that?» he tried to berate her, but he was laughing too hard to sound serious.

Dekker had stopped in the doorway, shocked. _This_ dog had never taken to any of his former 'companions;' he wondered what had gotten into her. Fortunately, this _Amerikaner_ seemed to like dogs; at least he didn't mind this one. Still… «Schatze, down!» he called, knowing that discipline must be maintained. But Schatze had other ideas, for she merely turned belly up, hoping for a rub.

«She must be the only one here who can disobey and get away with it,» Jim laughed still. «Look at those Eyes!»

«Only sometimes, Sergeant,» Dekker answered, allowing himself a smile. «Come, now, Schatze. Down. He cannot pet you.»

Now-mournful eyes turned towards her master, the dog finally moved to the foot of the bed. Her theatrical sigh was _sooo_ pitiful, even Dekker chuckled. He moved into the room and stepped to one side so the two soldiers could leave, but Brewster spoke before they could go. _"Herr Hauptmann?_ A question, sir?" He continued at the captain's cocked eyebrow. "Sir, there's no reason for you to have to struggle with those boots. If your orderly can't be trusted to hold his Tongue, perhaps the _Panzershütze_ would do you that Service? I mean, it's not like they don't know I'm here… Sir?"

"Lack ovf an audienze iz the only courtezy I can ovfer to my 'companionz,'" Dekker replied, his voice quiet and even, a danger sign to judge by the looks on the faces of Jim's escorts.

"Yes, sir, I understand that, and I truly appreciate the gesture. But what are they gonna see? You running around the room in your stocking feet? Last night, yeah, I'd probably have been more upset than I was. Tonight… Let's just say I'm a lot calmer. More tolerant, okay?"

The German was motionless, frozen as if getting himself under control. Then he sighed and nodded in understanding. "Fery vell. I believfe I see your point. You did not suffer from lazt night, zo you offer---vhat---a kindnezz _für_ a kindnezz?"

"Uhm, yes, sir, I guess you could call it that. I _think_ I don't have anything to worry about tonight, so why make it tougher on you when it doesn't have to be?" Jim was concerned, wondering if he should have kept his mouth shut.

But Dekker nodded once more, the glacial cold in his eyes thawing just a bit. "Fery vell, and I thank you for your thoughtfulnezz." He went to the bedside chair and sat, giving a sigh of relief as the tall boots were pulled off, one after the other, by Wenigmann. The _Panzerschütze _carried them out to the hallway and set them by the door so Oskar could clean and polish them for the following day. He left then, followed by _Obergefreiter_ Eberbach, who quietly closed the door behind himself.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There was a definite bounce in Dekker's step as he headed out to the mess tent the next morning. Apparently, Brewster had been awakened by the start of the usual nightmare and had re-established contact before he'd gotten more than slightly restless. The _Amerikaner_ was definitely trying to please; he'd moved over against his captor without even an order last night. Yes, he felt good today; he'd slept even better than he had the night before.

A pensive look on his face, Kimmich watched his captain come into the mess tent. He definitely had a problem. General Lasch was expecting him to come up with something to use against Dekker, but the more he saw of his commanding officer, the less he wanted to comply. Dekker was a _good _CO: Caring deeply for his men, he still attained his objectives. He had waited and watched last night to see if the _Amerikanischer Kommando_ would be brought into Dekker's room again, although he hadn't been sure of his motivation at the time. Later, he'd realized that he'd wanted to see how the prisoner had felt about it, before the fact.

But there had been no signs of stress or concern; the prisoner had moved with easy confidence. Most likely, therefore, the man had been telling the truth yesterday, and Dekker was _not_ a homosexual. And, as he thought things through, Kimmich could remember nights when the whole camp had been roused by their CO's nightmares. They had been getting worse again lately, until the _Kommando_ had been captured and forced into Dekker's bed. And now, today, Dekker looked ten years younger and well rested. There was a definite connection here, even if he didn't know or understand the reasons for it.

Kimmich found himself rather glad that he'd not written that report about 'deviant behavior' that he'd been trying to word so carefully. He had to send something… Maybe something about holding select prisoners for his personal amusement? On the surface that sounded bad, but subsequent inquiries could be easily diverted, especially since they were _all _commandos; he'd have to be sure to include that fact. His decision reached, he rose and, nodding politely to his captain, left the mess tent to write that report and start his day's paperwork.

Dekker wondered what was going through his second's mind. Brewster had told him about Kimmich watching to see if the _Amerikaner_ would be brought to his room again last night, but Kimmich didn't have his usual sour look this morning. He could only hope for the best.

Oskar came over, the plate he carried still steaming in the cool morning air. «A Treat this Morning, _Herr Hauptmann_,» the orderly said as he set an aromatic mug down beside the plate. «You may drink it with a clear Conscience; _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich gave the Cooks a whole Pound of real _Kaffe_ for the Mess Today. Everyone is getting some.»

Dekker grinned, albeit a trifle sourly. «It is nice to have the right Connections, is it not? Ah, well; I shall not let it spoil this, nor shall I let it go to Waste.

«The Prisoners in the Barn may have the Ersatz Brew, but see that Brewster gets some of this. If, that is, he gets fed at all this Morning.»

«Somehow, my Captain, I doubt that he will be going hungry. He gives the Men no Trouble, I hear, and even talks pleasantly with them. He is an unusual Man, it would seem.» Oskar seemed perplexed by the prisoner, but shrugged it off. It was, after all, no business of _his._ He waited until he saw the delight in his captain's eyes at the first sip of the real coffee, then went to see to his own breakfast.

The camp was finally awake and active by the time Jim was brought out for his breakfast. Most of the activity was centered around the Panzers, where old, roughly repaired battle damage was being properly seen to at last. It was odd, Jim thought, that such was being done here in the middle of nowhere. Usually these troops were sent to some well-equipped _Laager_ or other repair facility. It would be much more difficult to work on this equipment here.

He almost paused as it occurred to him to wonder if this job were being made more difficult intentionally, if Dekker were being set up for failure. «_Obergefreiter_,» he cautiously began, «I know it may be none of my Business, but is Somebody out to get _Hauptmann_ Dekker? Someone higher up his Chain of Command?»

The two German guards escorting him exchanged worried glances. «Why do you ask that?» Eberbach demanded, probably more sharply than he'd intended.

«Just…» Jim paused, then sighed. «Look, we may be on opposite Sides, but you Guys caught me fairly, and you've treated me very well, all Things considered. So I don't have anything against any of you, personally. Not even the _Hauptmann_. You Guys shoot me, now, _that_ might make me change my Mind.» He paused while they chuckled at that bit of gallows humor, then continued, «This whole Setup just isn't right. Your Group _should_ be at a regular Repair Facility, where you Men can go on R&R, and they have all the Equipment to do this Work.» He nodded toward the sounds of repair work in progress. «Quickly _and _easily. Not stuck out here in the Middle of Nowhere.»

«At least we are not sniped at by Russkies,» Wenigmann returned, his voice slightly sour.

«There's also the Matter of his Nightmares.» Jim knew he was on very dangerous ground here. «I've already told the _Hauptmann_ I won't say anything about that, away from here. But he should have seen Someone about them. Yeah, you need Men up on the Front, but you're winning this War. You don't need Battle-Fatigue Cases in Combat Zones…»

«It is _not_ Combat Fatigue,» Eberbach started hotly, then suddenly stopped himself.

«Whatever it is, he should be getting Professional Help somewhere. _No one _in the High Command should want to risk losing an _Offizier_ of his obvious Caliber, needlessly. So _that_ says Someone may be out to get him.

«What can I do to help?» The question, the offer, popped out before Jim realized it. But he meant it, despite everything; _that _was the true surprise.

His guards were silent, weighing him carefully. Then Eberbach sighed and shook his head. «You already do as much as can be done for him now. The longer you can keep from getting yourself shot, the better it will be for our _Hauptmann_. You… suit him, I would say. That may not save you, though. He may shoot you if he feels that he becomes _too_ attached. You understand?»

«Yeah. Typical of my Luck: A no-win Situation, made to Order.» Jim fell silent then, as they approached the latrines and field bath-house. This was definitely not a safe topic to talk about where it could be overheard.

He eyed the long tether-chain-and-manacle setup waiting for him in the washroom distastefully. «I don't suppose there's any Way I could convince you two Gentlemen to leave that off? Parole, say, until, oh, half an Hour after Breakfast?"

Regretfully, Eberbach shook his head. «I would take your Word, but, as they say, Shit happens. _Hauptmann_ Dekker would shoot _me_ if I lost you. Only he can decide to take your Parole, and it might not be wise to bother him this Morning. He was in a good Mood, true, but there is no telling what _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich may have said to him already. And, chained as you are, few can claim that you were trying to escape and just shoot you out of Hand.»

Another sigh, followed by a roguish grin. «Don't worry about it. Puts less Strain on me, this way; I don't have to fight off any Temptation.»

They chuckled with him, but tethered him securely before giving him some privacy to clean up.

Breakfast was… interesting. Speculation was rife in the eyes of the few men left in the mess tent as Jim was brought in. They couldn't help wondering about this prisoner who had wrought such a great change in their commanding officer. Jim could feel their eyes on him as he was brought in and placed at a table, much like the previous morning. He felt no animosity in their gaze.

He forgot all about them as his food was placed before him by one of the cook's assistants. There was the inevitable chunk of black bread, but beside that, two beautiful eggs stared up at him with their golden yolks against perfect whites. He glanced up at his escort in shock, only to see surprise on their faces also.

This had not been ordered… or, rather, they did not know about it ahead of time. The _Obergefreiter_ swung a quick look at the head cook, who glared back defiantly. Slowly Eberbach nodded, knowing now the source of this bounty. The old man wasn't that good a cook, but there was no doubting his loyalty.

«Don't let them get cold, _Unterfeldwebel_,» the _Panzerschütze _said quietly. «You do _not_ want old Heinz, the Cook, to think you reject his Gift.»

«No, _definitely_ not,» Jim muttered as he fell to with a will, making very short work of this unexpected treat. He was nearly finished when he felt someone's presence at his elbow. He forced himself to move slowly; if anyone there meant him harm, they did _not_ have to sneak up on him to carry out their intentions.

A young man stood there, a steaming cup of… coffee? Could that possibly be _real coffee?_ Jim froze at the thought.

The young soldier grinned at him. «I am Oskar, _Hauptman_ Dekker's Orderly. He said you should have this if you were fed this Morning. There is a little Sugar if you wish it, but, alas, no Milk.»

Jim watched, feeling shell-shocked as the cup---real ceramic, not tin---was set down on the table beside his now-empty plate. Slowly he reached for it, being _so _careful not to spill a single precious drop of the stuff. He sipped it slowly and carefully, for it was still quite hot. The look on his face told his escorts clearly that he was experiencing an event just short of Heaven; they smiled tolerantly.

«Oh, that's _good!_»he sighed as he set the cup down at last, reluctant to let go of that liquid brown gold. He glanced around himself, feeling as though he were alone. He wasn't, but his guards were not hovering at his back, either. No, he saw with a grin; they were seated at the table, cups of coffee in their hands also.

It was leisurely. No one rushed him, but Jim knew that all things must end. He only hoped that this hadn't been a "last meal," although the Germans didn't seem to have that tradition. He sighed and looked at the _Obergefreiter. _«I suppose…»

«_Ja_, it is past Time for you to be in Day-Quarters,» the German agreed with obvious regret. «_Komm_, then…»

Brewster went with his guard quietly, deep in thought, although later he couldn't recall what he'd been thinking about. Several soldiers, carrying kettles, caught his attention. It wasn't what they carried, but the fact that they were heading towards the old barn. He stopped dead in his tracks, turning towards Eberbach. «_Obergefreiter_, you have Someone locked up in the Barn? Prisoners?» His voice was strained, urgent.

«Move, _Unterfeldwebel_, before you are shot for resisting,» Eberbach advised as Wenigmann gave their charge a careful shove. «That is none of your Business.»

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was cool in the barn, dim light filtering in around cracks in the main door and around the small shuttered windows spaced along the walls. The thick stone held the chill of night still, leaving the confined men grateful for the blankets which they'd been given.

They had been moved, one at a time, to one of the box-stalls. There each had been given a bucket of water and some soft brown soap to wash with, and one of their clean uniforms to change into. No shaving tackle was provided, of course, so they were all starting to look rather scraggly despite their cleanup. A second, covered bucket served as their latrine. Back at their stalls, shackles were applied, with a long tether-chain now locked to the stall-ring embedded in the stone wall beneath each manger. Most found little to complain about in this, for their manacles were removed now, giving them slightly more freedom of movement.

It was quiet in the barn. None of the captives seemed inclined to be the first to break the silence. They had been told the previous evening to be silent or be gagged; they had not heard the German _Offizier _giving permission for soft speech. They rode the thin edge now; no one wanted to anger their captors and be the one to cause their executions. Serious interrogation, they all knew, would come when the Germans saw fit. The only sounds within were the occasional rattle of chain when someone shifted, and the sporadic coughing of one of the commandos as dust from the straw in their stalls irritated his lungs. Even those small noises ceased at the sound of Germans entering the barn, joking with the guards on duty.

«…might as well be guarding a Graveyard,» one guard was saying as they came further into hearing range. «They have hardly stirred all Night, or spoken. They cleaned up easily this Morning, also.»

«Would _you _cause Trouble if you were in their Place? All that lies ahead for them is a Bullet, or a Rope, and they know it. They are not stupid; they do not want to hurry it any.»

«Oh, I know,» the first guard sighed. «And I know not to wish for Excitement---we've had too much of that. Still, we checked all the Chains. Where can they go? There is little Reason for us to be here like this.»

«You complain too much,» a new voice, full of authority, now cut in. _«That_ is why _you_ are here: Guard-Duty keeps you _and _your Mouth out of the _Hauptmann's_ way, and so out of Trouble.

«Enough now. Get them fed and see that each has some Water for the Day. We have no Way of knowing if _Hauptmann_ Dekker will want one of them instead of his current… Project. So you will do well to ensure that these remain in good Condition. Or you may find yourself replacing any lost through your Neglect. _Versteht_?»

«_Jawohl, Herr Oberfeldwebel_,» the unfortunate guard stammered; the prisoners could clearly hear him clicking his heels together as he snapped to attention.

«_Idioten_,» another voice could be heard to mutter with little care for being overheard. This man came within sight shortly afterward, carrying a number of water bottles. He grinned as he tossed one to the first prisoner in line, the corporal. "Here iss vater for _du._ Make it lasst the day, _ja?" _But he didn't wait for an answer; he just moved down the line, tossing each man a water bottle.

Two more guards followed, one with a stack of bowls and a handful of spoons, the other carrying a kettle. Some watery potato soup was ladled into a bowl, which was then handed to a prisoner, and the pair moved down the row. They went back down the line with pieces of black bread, and finally handed a tin cup of ersatz coffee, made from roasted barley, to each captive. The guards slowly stalked up and down the central aisle as the men ate, speaking softly to each other as they passed, joking, but never taking their eyes from their charges. The bowls, spoons, and tin cups were collected as each man finished his meal, then the extra guards withdrew, leaving just two men on duty, one at each end of the aisle as their _Hauptmann_ had specified the night before.

"Well, _that_ was… interesting," Connolly finally risked saying, carefully keeping his voice lowered.

"That's one way of putting it," Perelli replied. "I'd'a said that it was scary as all---"

"I wonder just what… or rather, _who,_ this _Hauptmann_ Dekker's 'current project' is," McKeigh cut in. It should have been the lieutenant's place to think about that, but they all knew that Markham's ability to deal with people was sadly lacking.

"You don't think it could be…" Markham began, then, remembering the presence of the guards, cut himself off.

"It's likely, sir," McKeigh replied, still not being specific. "I got the impression that they were looking for us. I'd say the Krauts didn't just stumble over us."

"He'd never rat us out!" Perelli objected, his voice rising in indignation.

"Keep down your foice, _Schwein,_ or you vill the privilege looze," one of the guards warned, his voice sharp with inexplicable concern.

"Now I wonder what has _him _so worried?" McKeigh mused, his own voice a trifle louder than he'd intended. The guard at his end of the aisle came over and looked down at him where he sat, chained, against the side of his stall.

"_Hauptmann_ Dekker vantss you qviet kept," the guard explained, his eyes grim. "He iss not an _Offizier_ to… irritate. Not iff I vere you."

"Okay." McKeigh paused, studying the guard thoughtfully. The guard wore the patches of the _PanzerKorps_. Interesting. He'd _thought_ that he'd heard, vaguely, sounds of heavy repairs and large engines that morning. "You able to tell me what your _Hauptmann's 'current project' _is? Or _who_ it is?"

"You vant thiss soon to die?" the guard answered, but McKeigh could tell the man _wasn't_ making a joke.

"No, I don't want to know that bad," the corporal admitted quickly.

"I did not think so," the guard said before turning and resuming his post by the barn's doors.

McKeigh sat silently for several minutes before speaking again. "I don't think anyone _said_ anything. Just _being_ here would have tipped them off. I mean, how often do you find just _one_ of us somewhere? My guess is, if he _is_ here, he's not to know that we were taken. I have no idea why, and I'm _not_ about to ask, either. We'll just have to hope that he's okay."

Quiet murmurs greeted that statement. McKeigh couldn't help wondering what Markham thought about this. Not for the first time he regretted that Markham was their lieutenant and that Brewster was merely their sergeant.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker was bouncing as he entered his room that evening. Oskar was there, quietly folding away one of the captain's uniforms; the _Amerikaner_ was sitting quietly in bed, acting invisible. It made Dekker grin slightly, but this only made his pale eyes appear even colder than usual. They warmed somewhat when Oskar snapped to attention in his _Offizier's_ presence. Dekker waved him to a casual "at ease" as he went to sit on the bedside chair. A slight, offhanded gesture had the orderly coming over to remove the captain's tall boots.

«Can I get you anything, _Herr Hauptmann_?» Oskar asked, wondering what might still be available at this hour.

«No, Oskar; that will be all,» he answered, waiting only for his orderly to leave with the boots before turning to Brewster. "I am told that you… saw zomething today and azked zome qveztionz. Do you think qveztionz are vize, in your pozition?"

"Sir, questions aren't the deadly things around here," Jim carefully replied. "It's the _answers_ that will get me shot, and I didn't get any answers, except to mind my own business. Besides, Sir," he went on, his voice taking on a lighter tone, "it's my job to see things. You wouldn't want me to neglect my duty, would you?"

He'd meant it as a joke, but realized his mistake immediately. Dekker's face hardened like granite, for another part of the sergeant's job was to make every effort to escape.

"Oh, shit," Jim muttered softly, thinking frantically.

"Enough," the German said, his voice cold. "You dig your gravfe deep enough az it iz." He turned and readied himself for bed, the routine already familiar to Jim---familiar enough for him to realize that the routine was already off; something was missing.

"Where's Schatze?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"She iz downstairz. Blood upzetz her." Dekker slid into the bed, wondering what sort of fight he'd have now, but the _Kommando_ just slid over to him as if nothing unusual had been said this night.

"There doesn't have to be any blood, sir," Brewster offered carefully. "Your men are very careful to make sure that I'm not going anywhere you don't mean me to go. And I haven't really tried, either. The war's close to ending; it's not worth getting myself killed needlessly this late in the game."

_"Ja;_ I vaz told that you offered parole thiz morning," Dekker agreed grudgingly. He was curious again, to see how the _Amerikaner_ would respond to this knowledge.

"Yes, sir, I did. And that was before the coffee." Jim's voice went soft as he briefly remembered that cup of liquid bliss, but he quickly went back on track. "Your men didn't accept it; they said, quite correctly, that it was not their decision to make, but yours. I just thought it would make cleaning up, and breakfast, a lot easier."

"And the other izzue?"

"'Issue'?" Jim paused, puzzled at first, as he carefully thought back over their conversation. Cautiously, he asked, "Do you mean what I saw and asked about, sir? Or something else?"

"Go to sleep," Dekker growled, suddenly weary of playing games. He had a decision to make come morning. It would not be an easy one and could have painful personal repercussions.

"Sir, I find myself in a very hard place. I don't have enough information. Faulty info got me captured in the first place; I would prefer not to make a similar error, if possible," Jim explained, his voice carefully neutral.

Dekker sighed in resignation. His companion had a point, he acknowledged. He would not want to reveal the existence of his comrades if the enemy did not already know about them; human nature made him want to know how they were, if they had been captured. He already suspected that Brewster would be very loyal, much like his own SS troops.

"Ve found the rezt ovf your men yezterday, Sergeant," Dekker admitted slowly, feeling his companion tense beside him. He debated briefly with himself, then realized it would be cruel to withhold the rest. "Mozt are fine. They are konfined in the barn, az you zuspeckted. Vone (one) is dead, the vone called Carzon, I believfe. He vas sleeping on zentry---"

"The lazy idiot!" Brewster snapped in disgust, cutting the German off.

"I am told that your corporal had vordz _mit _your _Leutnant_ about him, bevfore the fackt. Your _Leutnant _ignored him." Dekker waited to see what reaction that tidbit would bring. He could feel Brewster tense further, then force himself to relax.

"With all due respect, sir, I would prefer not to air the squad's dirty laundry with an outsider," Jim carefully said, hoping his captor would accept that.

Dekker was not so inclined. "I am not exacktly an 'outzider,' az you say. Or vould you prevfer that I juzt shoot the _Leutnant, und_ rid you ovf the problem?"

"No, sir!" Brewster nearly panicked, forcing himself to relax again only by supreme effort. "Please. I… The lieutenant is a good guy, sir; only, he just wants to see _his_ side of everyone. That's great in a priest, but deadly in an officer. Sir." It felt as if that had been dragged out of him with hooks, but it obviously had to be said.

"I suggezt, Sergeant, that you do not try to play gamez _mit mir_ in the future; I guarantee that you the loser vill be." Dekker's voice was silky-smooth as he enjoyed his victory.

"Yes, Sir," was Brewster's only reply.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Brewster sighed as Dekker pulled the door closed behind himself. He'd heard his death in the German's voice last night; it would just be a matter of when, and fighting would only make it happen sooner. Just another of his typical no-win situations. He sat and mulled the night over, not even looking up when his morning escort tapped at the door and entered.

«_Morgen, Herr Unterfeldwebel,_» Wenigmann said as he approached.

Jim looked up at that and saw one of his own uniforms in the _Panzerschütze's_ arms. "What's up?" he asked, even as he climbed out of bed, then turned and knelt, ankles crossed, beside it. He knew the routine by heart now.

«What did you do to anger _Hauptmann_ Dekker last Night?» Wenigmann asked, his voice low as he released Jim's wrists. The commando said nothing as he changed his shirt, then held his right hand up for the cuff again. Only after it was re-attached did he rise from the floor to finish dressing. His uniform had been washed, he saw in surprise.

«I'm not really sure,» Jim admitted. _«He _asked all the Questions; I guess some of my Answers weren't the smartest.

«He's going to have me shot, you know.»

His escort stared at him, barely comprehending how he could make such a statement so calmly. Finally, Wenigmann seemed to shake his brain into action again. «Did he _say_ that?» the young German demanded incredulously.

«Not in so many Words. Tell me, though: How did you know I'd made him angry?»

It was Eberbach who answered this time. «You go out to the Barn with the others Today; you will eat the same as they do.»

«Ah,» said Jim, grinning now. «Back to common Swill, is it? No more Goodies. Oh, well; it _was _too good to last.» He was still grinning as he rose and presented his left wrist for cuffing also.

Wenigmann shook his head. «Behind you, _Unterfeldwebel_. Orders.» Jim had held his wrists in front of himself; that was how he'd been restrained up until today. He looked at his guards and turned, presenting his wrists without comment.

Somehow, he managed not to wince as the steel locked shut.

They made it as far as the back door. That was where Kimmich was lying in wait for them. Jim could see the questions in his eyes and gave a mental sigh. Then he grinned; he couldn't make things that much worse, after all. "Good morning, _Herr Oberleutnant,"_ he said, straightening into a semblance of attention as their forward progress was halted.

"Vhat did you do lazt night?" Kimmich demanded. "I almozt my head lozt today, so black iz _unser_ commander. _Und_ his favorite I am not, az it iz."

"Oh, boy," Jim muttered, perplexed now, his brows creased. "I didn't do anything, sir. Nothing different, anyway. He's probably gonna have me shot soon, though."

Kimmich stared at the _Amerikaner_ in shock. "But… but… _vhy?!"_ he finally stammered, feeling gut-punched.

"Hell, sir," Jim blurted in agitation. "He's your countryman; you tell me!"

But it was Eberbach who answered. "He iz feelink too comfortable _mit dir._ I haff seen dis before. You did not haff to do anyt'ink." He switched his gaze to Kimmich. «But, Sir, excuse us, please. We must take the Prisoner out to the Barn, to join the Rest. _Herr Hauptmann's_ Orders, Sir.»

«_Ja_; carry on. We don't want to cross _Hauptmann_ Dekker, especially not Today.» Kimmich returned their salutes and retreated back to his office.

Curiouser and curiouser, Jim thought as he accompanied his guards across the farmyard to the big barn.

There was a guard stationed just inside the main door. He had been provided a chair, but Brewster doubted that he'd ever sleep on duty. There was something about _all_ these men, a feel to them. They were first-class fighting men, and they knew it. Eberbach had stopped to speak to the man, but they were just far enough away that Jim couldn't hear what was said.

He took that time to look around. The barn was huge and very sturdily built. There were horse-stalls lining the aisle, straight tie stalls near the front and box stalls at the rear. A second guard sat in a chair midway down the aisle, about where the box stalls began. Every other slip stall had a small shuttered window; several of these were now open, providing a little light and some fresh air.

He turned at the sound of movement, but it was only the _Obergefreiter. _«Here,» he said, indicating the first stall on the left side of the aisle. «You will go into this one. You will be allowed to talk, but it must be quietly. Food will come Tonight. Questions?»

«No Questions, _Obergefreiter_,» Jim answered softly, then paused. «Our Guards; they speak English also?»

«No, but it is not a Concern anyway; they will be outside now.»

Jim moved to stand in the stall he'd been assigned, watching in resignation as a shackle on a long chain was brought in and locked onto his right ankle. He felt slightly better when "his" blankets were brought in from the machine shop. Turning at Eberbach's gesture, he then remained motionless as Wenigmann removed the handcuffs and stepped away from him.

«Here, _Unterfeldwebel_,» Wenigmann said, offering him a water bottle when he turned around again. «At least you will have Company Today, _ja_?» He left before Jim could think of a suitable reply, along with the two aisle-guards.

A cautious head slowly rose over the top of the stall divider to his left. "Jim. You okay?" It was McKeigh, a long-time friend, and Brewster smiled in greeting.

"Good to see you, Kevin. I'm doin' fine at the moment. Anyone hurt in here?" Sometimes, Jim reflected, it was hard not to be the one in charge.

"Everyone here is fine. We lost Carson."

"Dekker told me last night. Said he was sleeping on sentry duty."

"Probably," McKeigh growled. "He _was_ on sentry duty and kept arguing that it made no sense. There were no Krauts around, after all; Intelligence said so."

Brewster gave a snort of disgust. "Yeah; well, you know what you can do with those idiots in Intel. We've got a short battalion of Panzers 'not here,' just back from Russia less than a week, according to their captain – that's _Hauptmann_ Dekker; the SIC is Kimmich. He's spying on the good captain for someone higher up the food chain. Dekker…" He fell silent, and McKeigh realized that he'd decided to withhold whatever information he'd been about to disclose. "Where's the lieutenant?" Jim asked.

"Last stall down," McKeigh said. "Connolly's next, then Perelli, and Davidson," he added, filling in the blanks for the sergeant.

"Davidson okay?" Brewster was concerned; if the Germans found out he was Jewish, it could be bad.

"Yeah. Shaken and scared, but no one's hurt him, or even threatened him much." McKeigh paused a beat before saying, "They know he's Jewish, Jim. They found that bloody Star of David he insisted on wearing. Now they know how to read our identity disks."

"Can't be helped. At least Dekker seems to be decent, given half a chance. He leads by example; his men adore him."

"You seem to be well informed, Brewster," Markham's flat tone cut across the barn.

"Yes, sir," Jim replied, carefully concealing his dislike of the man. "I've been here going on three days now, sir. The guards have been… quite talkative about certain aspects of their unit. They're extremely well disciplined and seem to consider themselves a crack unit---and that's even considering the fact that they're a Panzer corps. They have Panthers, sir, plus two half-track companies and a full supply and repair convoy. Apparently they're back for repair and refit.

"You should be aware that Dekker has an Iron Cross First Class, Silver Wound and Panzer badges, and the badge for the Poland campaign. And two for Russia, that I saw. Sir." Jim made himself shut up before he said more than he should.

"I… see." Markham sat down without another word; Brewster and McKeigh exchanged worried looks.

"So now what, Jim?" McKeigh asked, his voice lowered.

"Now we wait, and eventually I'll be taken out and shot," Brewster answered, fighting to keep his voice level.

McKeigh stared at him, then swallowed. "Why?"

"My mouth. I reminded Dekker that I could be a problem, and he doesn't want, or need, any more problems than he already has. And he _does_ have 'em. Can't talk about it, Kevin; I swore I wouldn't. Just know that, for a German, he's harmless. Deal honestly with him, and he's decent. Despite appearances. That's all I'm gonna say, though."

"Yeah; I'll give him that," McKeigh slowly agreed. "What's surprised me is, he hasn't had us shot yet." He watched his friend and saw something flicker in his eyes, although he couldn't tell what. "Or… is that something you won't talk about?" he finally asked.

"Leave it, Kevin," Brewster advised with a weary sigh. "Around here, ignorance leads to a longer life."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

«_Herr Hauptmann_? The _Unterfeldwebel_ is not saying a Word. The _Obergefreiter_ knows that Something is not being said, but he has no Hint what that could be.»

And Dekker smiled briefly, relieved and feeling vindicated.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lanterns had been lit and hung in the dust-darkened barn. Supper had come and gone, leaving Brewster longing for past treatment. Thin soup and a small chunk of black bread made pretty meager fare, but that was what they all got, and he knew enough to be grateful for even that much. They had freshly refilled water bottles for the night and had each made the trip to the box stall that served as their latrine. Soon, he knew, the lanterns would be extinguished, and they would be left alone for the night.

He couldn't help wondering if Dekker meant to sleep alone tonight.

Time crawled by, feeling even longer than it had when he'd been secured in the machine shed. He must have dozed off then, for the next thing he knew, there was a warm, furry bundle climbing all over him, licking his face and ears. He had to laugh. «Schatze, what are _you_ doing here? Where's your Master, eh? He'll have a Fit, seeing you jumping all over me.» He paused, looking up, for he could feel a presence.

Dekker stood in the aisle, watching his dog with the _Amerikaner. _Yes, he acknowledged a major flash of jealousy, for she would not go to anyone else, normally. But this _Kommando… _"Stay down, Sergeant," he ordered, his voice level, when he saw that Brewster was about to come to his feet. The dog had stopped fawning over the _Amerikaner_ as soon as he'd spoken; now she crawled over, whining in distress.

«Hush, Schatze, _Liebchen_,» he murmured, stroking her gently. «You're a good Girl. What's wrong, eh?» He fussed over her a few moments longer, oddly at ease before his prisoner. _This_ one actually seemed to understand him. He straightened at last and looked over at the guards who'd come in with him.

Jim grinned to see Eberbach and Wenigmann, but his grin quickly faded at Dekker's command.

"Bring out the one called Connolly," the captain ordered, watching Brewster carefully. He was not the one to worry about, though. The others were all on their feet, protesting loudly, and Dekker was starting to get a very ugly look on his face.

"Knock it off, you jerks!" Jim snapped, his own anger also rising. "They won't hurt him if he doesn't fight 'em.

"Connolly, keep your head. And keep your mouth shut, Perelli; I don't want to hear any of your trash tonight." _Shit,_ Jim thought in disgust. What was wrong with Markham? _He_ should have been the one trying to control the others.

Dekker just nodded thoughtfully, for this display proved his guess about this unit. The sergeant was the real power among them; they would do whatever he said. The _Leutnant_ was a non-entity to his men, an empty authority-symbol. They would not die for him, but they would for Brewster.

And right then, Brewster was heartily kicking himself for not telling the others more about Dekker. It was too late now; they had Connolly halfway to the doors. Jim looked at the German officer in near-despair. «_Herr Hauptmann_, let me talk to him first. _Please.» _He expected to have to beg, but, to his surprise, Dekker held up a hand, stopping his guards in their tracks. A jerk of his head towards the first stall had the guards pulling Larry over to his sergeant.

"Listen, Connolly, it's not what you think. Just play along, and you'll be fine. I've been there, Larry, and I survived."

"Yeah, but I don't see you volunteering to take my place," the young PFC began, but Jim cut him off.

"I would if I thought it'd do any good. I pissed him off last night, and now I get punished."

_"You_ get…?" Larry stopped himself, nodding slightly. Brewster always tried to look out for his men. This must be absolutely killing him. But the Kraut was letting him give this warning, at least. "Gotcha, Sarge. Calm it is."

"Thanks, kid. See you in the morning." Jim had to admit that he felt a little better about this, now that Connolly had had a bit of a warning.

«You are not being punished, _Unterfeldwebel_,» Dekker said softly, for Jim's ears alone, though McKeigh in the next stall could probably hear him also. «I am merely… exploring my Options, let us say.»

Jim understood all too clearly. «Checking out the Spares.»

Dekker nodded and turned for the barn doors, then paused and looked back at _his_ commando. «See that I do not need them, _ja_?» Then they were gone, swallowed up by the night.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"You gonna tell us what this is all about now?" McKeigh's voice was soft, but there was an edge of steel to it.

Jim sighed; the cat was truly out of the bag now. "Dekker has nightmares unless there's someone with him. And he talks in his sleep; he doesn't know for sure that I know _that._ I suspect he's afraid he'll spill classified info, or something like that. Anyway, he doesn't want to have to shoot some girl whose only 'crime' was being forced to share his bed.

"So he uses prisoners. Doesn't _do_ anything but turn you into a great big teddy bear. No groping hands; nothing like that. Most of his men know about the problem, so they catch…'companions' for him. And when he gets tired of them, or they give him trouble, or… well, he has them shot.

"You guys are supposed to be replacements for me."

"That's disgusting!"

Jim looked down the line of stalls and shook his head. Leave it to _Mister_ Find-the-Best-in-Everyone. "No; that's desperation, Lieutenant. But now that you all know, he can't risk any of us getting away. I swore I wouldn't tell anyone, and I didn't---until _he_ blew the cover off. I doubt you'd keep your mouth shut, though, would you, Lieutenant? Perelli would; _he's_ got a sense of honor."

"Why, you…! You wait 'til we get back, Brewster," Markham snarled. "I'll see you broken for that!" He continued in the same vein for quite some time, interspersing his threats with curses, his voice rising as Brewster continued to ignore him.

Finally, the door-guard came in and knocked Markham out with the butt of his weapon, then looked at Jim as he headed back to his post. "You haff not removft (removed) that?" he asked incredulously.

Jim just grimaced. "I've been tempted. _Very _tempted. I think he's gonna do himself in here, though."

_"Hauptmann_ Dekker vill not tolerate that _f__ü__r_ long." The guard grinned then, surprising Jim. "Get some sleep, _Unterfeldwebel._ Your men vill need you tomorrow."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker headed back to the farmhouse, trailed by his men and this night's companion. Schatze crowded his heels, whining unhappily. _Almost_ he sent Connolly back, but… No. He would see what this one was like. Inside, he headed to his office. Connolly would be in shortly; he would be brought to the wash-tent to clean up and would also go to the latrines before being brought up to the bedroom.

He settled in his office, not seeing the report before him. He would keep Brewster, he decided; the man was trying to do right by his men, yet not betray his word. It seemed to matter not at all that Dekker hadn't acknowledged that promise of silence. The young _Hauptmann_ found himself almost smiling at that thought, but a frown quickly replaced _that_ as he then thought about the lieutenant, Markham. The man was a fool, and thoughtless of his men. He would probably get them killed, and that could cause problems with his sergeant. No; Markham would have to be removed. He could see to that in the morning, though. The decision made, he turned back to his endless paperwork.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Larry Connolly didn't know whether to thank the sergeant for his cryptic reassurances, or curse him for his informal order not to fight these Krauts tonight. While they weren't roughing him up, their atypical behavior had him very spooked. They were being almost _too_ careful with him.

A lean, shadowy figure waited for them at the back door of the farmhouse. Connolly heard one of his guards curse softly under his breath, but there would be no avoiding whoever this was. A darkly handsome lieutenant, he frowned when the two guards brought Connolly to a stop before him.

«Where is the _Unterfeldwebel?_» he asked in confusion. «Surely he did not…»

«No, Sir,» Eberbach cut him off. «He is just trying out some of the Others… who also seem to speak German,» he added as Connolly stiffened in their grip.

«Hmm. I _had_ thought it odd… How many is he likely to retain, _Obergefreiter_?»

«He has never kept more than one before this, _Herr Oberleutnant_, but Prisoners will be hard to come by, here. I suspect that he will try to keep several, against future Need. He will, no Doubt, weed out any Troublemakers.»

Kimmich shook his head, not sure what he should think about that. This prisoner looked more panicked the longer he was kept standing there… and that was not good, the _Offizier_ realized. «You had best do with him what is required, then. Dismissed.» With that, Kimmich was gone, back into the house and up to his quarters.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was all he could do at first not to throw up. Slowly he settled as he figured out what Brewster had meant. Still, Larry was grateful when the German captain finally rolled away in his sleep. It wasn't long before the man started to moan and thrash about in the grip of a nightmare. _How_ had Jim Brewster slept, with the Kraut like this? He kept as close to the edge of the bed as he could, trying to avoid contact with his captor as much as possible.

The dog that had been following the German jumped up on the bed as it was heading toward dawn, and spread herself out along her master's back; finally, the German stilled, although he was still somewhat restless.

And so Dekker was sluggish the next morning, without the bounce that had been there, and he was irritable, and tired. All in all, Dekker figured that he was in just the right frame of mind to deal with Markham.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_"Raus! Raus!"_

No, Jim thought as he blearily threw himself back in the stall to avoid heavy jackboots; these guards were definitely _not_ at their best in the morning. He shook his head, trying to come more alert as hard hands grabbed his arms and jerked him to his feet, then pinned him against the side of the stall. He stayed as still as he could, hoping to spare himself some abuse, as manacles were locked onto his wrists.

He could hear the same routine being carried out in the other stalls, could hear Davidson's frightened breathing and Markham's curses. The idiot; what was he trying to do, get them all shot? And then he nearly lost it, for a guard came in and slipped a garrote wire around his neck.

«Easy, _Unterfeldwebel_. Do not fight me.»

Jim fought through his panic to recognize the guard; he was Wenigmann. Then he realized that the wire wasn't all that tight; it was for control, not to kill. So he stood still while the second guard released his shackle-cuff, then moved quietly out into the barn's aisle at the _Panzerschütze's _direction.

McKeigh saw him and calmed; as he was moved up the aisle, Perelli and even Davidson steadied down. Markham had to be choked nearly senseless before he could be moved. But move he finally did, out into the aisle; then the whole group of them were brought out into the yard.

Connolly was out there, white-faced and shaking, down on his knees with a wire around his neck like the rest of them. The others were lined up next to the young PFC and forced to their knees. Then they waited.

Eventually, Dekker came strolling up from the direction of the mess tent, _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel at his heels. He walked up the line of prisoners, oh, so casually, his eyes cold and hard. He ignored Jim's presence totally.

Brewster worried. The _Hauptmann_ looked terrible this morning, shadows dark under his eyes. Had Connolly not slept with him? But he couldn't ask, not in _that_ lineup. Jim just prayed that his men would keep their tempers; this was too much like an execution line.

Markham started to struggle and curse, albeit quietly, drawing Dekker's cold stare.

"You do not like your akkommodationz?" Dekker purred, his face hard. "Fery vell; you do not haff to stay here, then." And to everyone's horror, he drew his pistol with one smooth, practiced motion and shot Markham point-blank between the eyes. He looked up and down the line of the remaining prisoners, all now motionless in shock.

"Any other komplaintz?" He waited a moment, then nodded and switched to German. «_Sehr gut_. Have them brought to the Mess Tent and fed. They can bury that Carrion after that. Carry on, _Oberfeldwebel_.»

«_Zu Befehl_,» Seidel snapped, then motioned to the guards to get their charges back on their feet.

Dekker walked away, totally unconcerned. The dog Schatze slunk at his heels, her tail between her legs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The mess tent was deserted when they arrived, save for the serving staff. Wenigmann kept Jim to one side, the garotte still in place, but the others were released and sent down the serving line. Only after the other four were settled at a table in the middle of the tent was Jim released to get his own breakfast. The implications were clear: He would be held hostage for the good behavior of his men. No doubt _they_ would be held against his, too.

The food… well, it was edible, but that was all Jim would credit it with being. They were given enough to eat, at least. Some sort of mash, with shreds of meat---most likely pork---cooked into it. A thin slice of brown bread, spread with something, and a cup of that ersatz brew finished the meal. Jim noted that Davidson ate what he'd been given with no protest, despite his religious dietary prohibitions. Wise man, Brewster thought wryly.

They had been kept under careful guard during the meal and had carefully avoided any attempts at conversation. Those machine pistols in their guards' hands were real social dampers. Now Jim saw Connolly stiffen at something past Jim's shoulders.

«Steady, _Unterfeldwebel_,» Wenigmann cautioned, just before slipping the wire back over his head and bringing it snug around his neck once more.

«You know that's scary as all Hell, don't you?» Jim tried to make light of the situation, but he could feel a trickle of perspiration trace down his back.

«_Ja_, but… I'm sure that you can see the Necessity? Before, there was just you. Now…» Wenigmann sighed and looked at the other _Kommandos._ They were all frozen in place, scarcely daring to breathe.

«Don't worry; we know the Score.» Jim tried to project calm. The wire was a bit tighter this time.

«Just get up, carefully, and come with me. The Others will be brought along after we are clear.»

Brewster looked back at his men. They all nodded slightly: They would obey and cause no trouble. He rose, carefully keeping his balance. That wire could slice his neck if he fell. But he managed to get up and outside without incident. Behind him he could hear his men being herded out to join them. They stayed a safe distance away, not wanting to spook Jim's guard into a "regrettable accident."

There were four shovels stacked next to Markham's corpse, and that appeared to be their destination. Wenigmann slowed, putting more distance between his charge and the other _Kommandos._ Jim understood why when their manacles were removed; they were directed to bring the shovels and the body. They followed one guard to a spot well past the barn that seemed to have been the family's private cemetery. The raw earth of a recent grave marked Carson's final resting place; now Markham would join him. Without any comment or argument, Brewster's squad began to dig where their guards indicated.

They were nearly done digging when a young _Leutnant_ joined them. Jim wondered at first about the _Offizier's_ lack of a personal weapon until he noticed the collar flashes. This man was in the chaplain corps. It surprised him that the Germans would bother with any type of service for mere prisoners. It was simple, and in German, but Brewster found himself feeling extremely grateful nonetheless.

Finally, the grave was filled in, and they were brought back around to the front of the barn. Brewster could feel their tension levels soar as they found the _Oberfeldwebel,_ Seidel, waiting for them.

«Take these two,» here he indicated Davidson and Perelli. «Put them to Work; they can help the Cook and his Men. The Rest will be surety for them.» The look he turned on Jim's men was glacial, but thawed the tiniest bit when the _Kommandos_ nodded their understanding and acceptance. The two privates were hustled away and the others brought back into the barn and chained in their stalls once more.

Wenigmann looked at Jim and frowned momentarily. «Your Men will be safe enough, _Unterfeldwebel_," he tried to reassure Jim. The _Kommando_ just looked at his guard with troubled eyes, but said nothing until well after they'd all been left alone again at last.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jim settled back against the head of his stall. They'd managed to survive the day with no further losses to the squad, he mused. Both Davidson and Perelli had been returned to the barn unharmed after dinner at noon; they had taken Connolly and McKeigh for KP for supper. That just left him.

He heard the scuff of the guard's boots at the door, the click of his heels as he came to attention. Then Dekker's voice, telling the guard to stand easy. He looked up to see Dekker studying him, an enigmatic look on his face. Slowly then, the German paced down the aisle, studying the men held there. Finally, he returned to stand looking down at Jim once more. At last he reached into his left breast pocket and removed something, which he flipped to his prisoner.

Brewster caught it out of reflex, only then seeing that it was a key.

"_Komm' mit_, Sergeant," he said, watching _his_ commando carefully.

Jim nodded slowly, then reached down to unlock his shackle-cuff. He rose to his feet, careful to be as unthreatening as possible. He'd seen the _Hauptmann's_ reflexes with that pistol; he had no desire to be shot by mistake… or for any other reason.

"Jimmy?" McKeigh called from the next stall, worry in his voice.

Jim didn't take his eyes off Dekker. "It's okay, Kev; I'll be fine. You guys get some sleep and keep outta trouble." He grinned momentarily, then continued, "I don't know if the guards are current on their shots, so don't antagonize 'em."

To Brewster's surprise, even Dekker grinned slightly at that.

_"Komm',"_ he repeated, his voice a touch softer. "Schatze mizzez you." He waved Brewster ahead of him as they left the barn to head for the house.

Jim's back was crawling; he could sense the German studying him as they walked. He felt strange; this was the first time that he'd been off that chain with no handcuffs. Still, he wasn't tempted to run in the slightest. He couldn't desert his men… and Dekker knew it, damn him.

He paused at the foot of the steps; Dekker grinned. «Go in, and up the stairs… 'Jimmy.'» His grin widened as he saw the _Amerikaner's_ shoulders stiffen briefly, then relax again as he climbed the steps and entered the back hallway of the house.

"Only my friends call me that." Brewster's voice was strained as he tried to keep his temper.

«And you had best hope that you remain a…_Friend_…or would you and your Men like to argue that with me?» Dekker's voice was smooth as silk, but the threat wasn't even partially veiled.

"No, sir." Outrage could still be heard, although he tried to control it.

Dekker snorted in amusement. «Bathroom is to the left, first Door at the top of the Stairs. You know where my Room is. Be there, chained, when I get there.» His voice hardened as he spoke, indicating that he would tolerate no deviation from his orders.

Brewster couldn't help himself. "Why, you…" he began as he spun to face the German, bristling at the insult, but got no further. Dekker's pistol slammed across his face, knocking him, dazed, to the floor. He glared up at his captor, but the German just calmly watched him.

«Tell me, 'Jimmy,' how many of your Men will I have to shoot before you learn Obedience? Or perhaps I should just have some… Special Treatment given to your little _Jude_?» His voice was calm, as if this was just an item of passing curiosity, but the Mauser never wavered from its aimpoint between the commando's eyes.

The _Amerikaner_ shivered as if someone had walked over his grave. He lowered his eyes, knowing that Dekker held all the cards, and could only wonder why his flash of defiance hadn't gotten him shot.

«Get upstairs. Now.» He would not tell the man again… but he would not have to, he saw. Very carefully, the commando was picking himself up, then heading up the stairs. Schatze whined, looking from her master to her new friend, upset by the tension she felt between the two.

Dekker sighed, then bent to pet the dog. He would give…"Jimmy"…twenty minutes; then he would see. He could only hope.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kimmich's door opened as Brewster reached the top of the stairs. Whatever the _Oberleutnant_ had meant to say was forgotten in his surprise. The _Kommando Unterfeldwebel_ looked beaten; his eyes had no spark tonight. _What_ had happened, the German wondered. But the man halted, waiting to see what more was to be demanded of him. Blood trickled down the left side of his face, yet he was unrestrained. Or _was_ he? Kimmich had to wonder about that as the moments stretched out. Still the _Kommando_ kept his silence, his eyes lowered. Finally the _Offizier_ shook himself back into awareness. «Get yourself cleaned up and follow your Orders.» He watched, concerned, as this enemy _Soldat_ took a long breath, then straightened himself.

"Yessir," he murmured, so softly it could barely be heard. Then he turned for the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself.

He leaned against the closed door, fighting the trembling of his muscles. Oh, God, what was he going to do? If he tried to save his own sense of honor, that Kraut bastard would torture and kill his men. Hell, he might anyway… but he'd have to try to save them. He'd have to play along, for however long Dekker chose to toy with him. Decision reached, Brewster took a deep breath to collect himself, then ran some warm water into the basin. Time to see what the damage to his face was, then get himself cleaned up. There was no telling how long he would be given, but Jim knew that he'd best be where Dekker expected him to be, or his men would pay for his lapse.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker entered his room, followed by his orderly. These men were not like the peasants he'd had to use in Russia; they seemed to understand that he meant them no dishonor. And it was _so_ much easier to have his orderly pull his boots off for him. As Oskar pulled the door closed behind himself as he left, Dekker looked over at the other side of the bed at last.

Brewster looked much as he had the previous nights, not much worse for wear. A quick glance at the far wall showed the commando's clothes neatly folded on the chair where they were routinely left. The cuffs seemed to be properly in place.

«Do I need to check the Cuffs?» Dekker asked, as if he were inquiring whether his companion wanted a drink.

«No, Sir. They're locked, and tight enough that I can't slip 'em.» Brewster managed to control his voice long enough to get those words out. It was true; he fully expected the German to verify that for himself, so there was no point in lying about it.

But, to his surprise, the German reached for his face instead. «Let me see the Damage,» he said as he turned Jim's head. There was no resistance, so he was able to keep his touch light. There was a look of wary surprise in the American's eyes that he carefully said nothing about; instead, he just nodded. «It will swell and bruise, but I think that it will not scar. You will not need Stitches, either. That is good. It would be best not to try me again; you might not be so lucky next Time.»

«No; I don't think that would be really smart, either. Sir.» Jim kept his eyes down. He couldn't figure Dekker out tonight, and that worried him.

«Ah, Jimmy. You would not have been hurt if you had not tried to defy me. I cannot allow that, you see. You _do_ know about _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich?» Dekker wondered what sort of response that would bring. He had felt him tense, briefly, at the use of the familiar form of his name, but no explosion or protest came.

His answer was soft. «Yes, Sir. I know he's spying on you. He was waiting for you to come up Tonight; he was rather shocked to see me all by myself.» Despite himself, Brewster had a tiny grin at that memory. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, but Dekker was pleased nonetheless.

«Then I do not insult you by stating the Obvious.» Dekker rose then and began his nightly routine. Schatze watched him from her spot by the wall, an old blanket for her bed. A soft thumping could be heard from her direction, her tail against the floor. By morning, she would be up on the bed, too, but…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wenigmann was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, to bring him back out to the barn. The young _Panzerschütze's_ eyes widened at the now-purple side of Brewster's face, but he kept his questions to himself. Jim just sighed and moved along in front of his escort. Yeah, he could have tried for the rifle, but there were plenty of other men around, surreptitiously watching him. The price of freedom from his chains, however fleeting… He had his orders from Dekker and knew he would follow them, for the sake of his men.

They were awake and watching for him, nervous after the lineup of the previous morning.

McKeigh saw him first. "Jeeze, Sarge, what happened to you?!" he cried in shock.

Brewster just shook his head. "My brain shut down and let my smart mouth walk me into a Mauser, courtesy of the _Hauptmann._ Don't worry; it looks worse than it is.

"Everyone okay?"

"They came and took Perelli and Davidson about half an hour ago, I'd guess. Said they had KP again." McKeigh sounded as if he were trying to convince himself even as he answered his sergeant.

"Probably the truth. One thing I've noticed," Jim said reflectively, "he doesn't hide what he's going to do. If he meant to kill them, he'd probably blow them away in front of us all, just like he did the lieutenant."

"Somehow, Sarge, that's not very reassuring. So, what do we do now?" Connolly called across, looking concerned.

"Now? Now I do whatever I have to, to try to keep you guys alive and healthy as long as I can."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They fell into a routine. Each morning, Perelli and Davidson went to work in the mess, returning to the barn after the noon meal. Then it was McKeigh and Connolly's turn until after supper. In the late evening, Brewster was released from his shackle and sent to the farmhouse, and _Hauptmann_ Dekker. He had no escort these days, although no one was fooled by this seeming lapse. There were soldiers with guns watching from a distance, and no real opportunity for escape. In the mornings he returned to the barn, only to tether himself back in his stall. He wondered how long this could go on.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker hadn't felt this good in years. He was sleeping through the nights now, even if this _was_ only due to the presence of the _Amerikaner._ He frowned at that thought. He'd had Brewster for two weeks now; what had the man heard? He had no idea, for the _Kommando_ brought him out of his nightmares before they truly started. Did he still talk in his sleep?

Perhaps it was time, most unfortunately, to remove Brewster and replace him with one of the others.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Changes in routine were never good, especially here. The _Kommando_ squad fought to control their panic when the guards came in that morning, garrote wires dangling from gloved hands. They knew better than to fight the guards now, though, so they all allowed themselves to be restrained and moved out into the main aisle. They were in a line, kneeling, when Dekker came in. Schatze was not with him; she could be heard howling from the house.

Dekker paused by Jim, running a hand lightly over his head. The _Kommando_ was motionless, for he'd seen his death in those pale blue eyes. Slowly the German moved down the line, looking at the others. Davidson was white and looked like he was about to pass out.

"Hush, little _Jude._ You are safe enough, for now. I haf been told you vork vell; you are uzeful, _und_ zo you vill be kept." Dekker looked up at his guard. «Put him back, before he blacks out and cuts his own fool Throat. Has anyone been… playing… with him? He should be calmer than this by now.»

«No, Herr Hauptmann; none have molested him, for he does his Work with attention to Detail. Cook is pleased with him…»

«…and no one wants Cook mad at him. I see; it is just being held by us.» Dekker clearly put Davidson out of his mind. Once more he looked over the row of kneeling captives, then went to stand before Brewster. He really regretted this, but the longer he kept him, the harder it would be in the end. It didn't help that the _Kommando_ knew what was about to happen. Slowly, he reached to unsnap his holster-flap, his eyes dark with pain.

«_Herr Hauptmann_? A Staff Car and Truck have just entered Camp.» The private who brought that news very carefully ignored what was going on in the barn. When he had joined this unit, it had been explained to him, in great detail, that there were certain things that he was _not_ to have seen---even if he _did_ see them happening. And this definitely fell into that category, the young private thought, as he waited for his _Hauptmann._

Dekker looked over at the boy, anger in his eyes. He'd had enough trouble steeling himself to do this once; it would be so easy to let this wait… and wait… and wait… He turned and stalked towards the doorway; perhaps this could be cleared up quickly. And so he left everyone where they were.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wenigmann and Eberbach exchanged troubled looks. The _Hauptmann_ had been looking good these last few days. He had been sleeping; obviously the _Unterfeldwebel _had been looking after him properly. To see the man thrown away like this now _hurt._ And it hurt _Hauptmann _Dekker. He would regret this terribly, even if one of the others could be made to do the job properly. That was why he was doing it, though; he had felt an attachment growing for the _Amerikaner._ And he could not let himself care for anyone, for it was not safe. But it still did not seem right.

Suddenly Wenigmann felt his charge begin to sway. He looked down; the _Unterfeldwebel_ looked like he was about to throw up. He could understand that; a look brought one of the other _Soldaten_ to his side, and they carefully moved Brewster to the side of his stall so he'd have something to lean against.

«_Unterfeldwebel_, I am sorry,» the young _Panzerschütze _found himself saying to his prisoner.

Jim just nodded weakly. He felt… shocky was the only way to put it. This was no reprieve, he knew; it only postponed the inevitable. And it would do no good to beg or plead, so he tried to grasp what was left his courage and honor and die like a man. That would be best for all of them, his men _and_ Dekker. To his surprise, he found that he didn't even blame the German, although he still didn't quite know why he felt he had to do that.

He could still hear the dog howling from the house.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker stalked out of the barn, fury apparent in every move he made. He tried to rein it in, for there was a major standing by the staff car, looking around himself curiously. A _Leutnant_ stood behind the car; two guards stood near the rear of the truck, as if it contained… Prisoners? _Was?_

«_Hauptmann_ Dekker?» The major had spotted him coming; now he focused on his advance.

Dekker stopped and came to attention before the man, giving a crisp salute, which was casually returned. «I am _Hauptmann _Dekker; how can I assist you, _Herr Major_…?» He eyed the staffer's tabs on the major's collar, a sinking feeling in his gut. Briefly he could have sworn that he felt eyes on his back, watching, but the sensation was quickly gone.

«_Major_ Cappel. I have been sent with a … Gift… for you, _Hauptmann_. It has come to our Attention that you have a penchant for keeping …unusual… Pets. It was felt that you would be able to contain these with no Trouble. My Aide has their Paperwork; where would you like them?»

The major turned and nodded at one of the guards by the truck; within moments, eight men, securely chained, had been pushed out to land heavily on the ground. They had no way to break their fall, and no one helped them. Dekker scowled darkly, then looked back at the major.

«I have no Need of these. This is a fighting Unit, not a Prison Detachment.»

«Yet you keep Prisoners, we are told.» Now the major looked slightly confused. Had they been misinformed?

Dekker sighed; he'd _known_ this would catch up with him eventually. Why _now?_ «I only have my Hounds; they help with the Mess and other necessary Labor. They are not even Official; they have not been reported as taken to the Protecting Powers, so they might be readily disposed of if necessary.»

«I… see,» Cappel said slowly. Not official, yet he had been sent here with prisoners? What was going on? _«Can_ you take these? If not, I suppose that they could be 'shot while trying to escape.'»

«No,» sighed Dekker with a shake of his head. «I'll take them, at least until other Arrangements can be made. I am not a Butcher, despite what some may think. Have them brought into the Barn, if you would, Sir.» He turned and led the way. This _really_ complicated matters.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

«_Scheiße!_» _Gefreiter_ Hinkes muttered, moving away from the barn door. «It's some _Major_ from Headquarters; he's got a Truck with Prisoners. They look like more _Kommandos_, too.»

«That's Kimmich's Fault; he must have reported to the General that we had these,» Eberbach replied, thinking furiously. «Anything else?»

«_Hauptmann_ Dekker called these his 'Hounds'…» Hinkes said slowly, then he and Eberbach grinned.

«Get the _Unterfeldwebel_ back over here; take all their Chains off. Put those Wires away, out of Sight,» Eberbach ordered, his voice carefully lowered. «Play along, '_H__ü__nde_', and we may _all_ survive this. _Klein Jude_, no one will hurt you. Get back with the Rest and be still. These Visitors do not know what you are, and _we're_ not going to tell them. Now play _tamed,_ all of you, if you hope to survive.»

He fell silent just before the approaching party reached the doors.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker led the way in, managing not to stop when he saw the new arrangements. Just as well; Cappel was right on his heels and would have walked into him. The commandos were all still kneeling in a line, but they were now unrestrained. Davidson had rejoined them, still at the end of the line in his usual place. None of them moved a muscle as Dekker re-entered; they were already at a kneeling "attention." Their _guards,_ though… The _Soldaten_ had been lounging against the stall-ends at their ease, although still carefully watching their charges. Now they, too, snapped to attention in the face of these visiting _Offiziere_.

Hoping desperately that he was reading the situation correctly, Dekker waved a hand negligently in their direction. «My Hounds, _Herr Major_.»

Cappel looked the kneeling men over carefully. This looked for all the world like a common inspection-line… or as common as such a thing could be. The five men were motionless, eyes fixed straight ahead. The one at the near end was slightly pale; sick, perhaps? That one had a sergeant's rank stripes. He looked at the men again and saw that they were placed in descending order of rank. «And they are tamed? Safe to run loose like this?» he asked in amazement, looking at Dekker with new respect.

«They are chained at Night, to keep them safe in their Kennels.» Dekker was sweating now. How long would they tolerate this? He turned, distracted, as the new men were literally dragged in. He could feel his Hounds' ripple of interest, but none of them moved so much as a muscle. «Put your Prisoners in those Stalls,» he ordered, waving a hand at the straight stalls across from those of the commandos. «My Men will sort them out later. You will have to leave their Restraints with them; we do not keep a limitless Supply of such Things here. As I said before, we are a Fighting Unit.»

«Not a Problem.» _Major_ Cappel was intrigued. These were definitely commandos. «You can order them? They will obey?» He looked at them, up and down the line, then settled his gaze on the ranking one at the end. «You, come here!» he snapped at Brewster. When the man didn't move, he looked at Dekker. «They do not speak German?»

«They speak German,» Dekker said, very worried now. If they did not obey… "Jimmy, _komm' hier," _he said, voice quiet and calm. To his great relief, Brewster rose smoothly and walked over to him, then settled back down on his knees before him. His face was impassive, but his body was relaxed despite the upright posture.

Dekker looked over to see his visitors' surprised looks and decided to press the point. «They obey my Men also, _Herr Major_. But they are _my_ Hounds, not yours.»

«So I see. I am impressed, _Hauptmann_ Dekker. And I think it safe to say that if anyone can hold these Men—» he waved a hand at Dekker's newest charges—«you will be the one to manage it.

«We must go now; here are the Papers for… your new Pack, shall we say? Unfortunately, these _have_ been registered with the Swiss; they will not be so easy to dispose of.» Cappel watched as his aide handed a stack of folders over to one of Dekker's _Obergefreiter_, then accepted Dekker's salute and left.

Dekker just stood there, looking down at Brewster numbly. He had almost killed this man, yet Jimmy still did his best to make his captor look good. Slowly he reached out one hand and laid it on Brewster's head. He knew that it trembled, yet he could do nothing to stop it. He looked up at Eberbach. «See that they are fed, _Obergefreiter_. If there is _Kaffe_, give them some. And have those new ones sorted and tethered. I will be in my Office; you can bring me their Papers there.»

«_Zu Befehl, mein Hauptmann_,» Eberbach replied, straightening and clicking his heels. He watched as his captain took a deep breath, then left for the farmhouse.

«Go, _Unterfeldwebel_, back to your 'Kennel',» he told Brewster, but his voice was kind. He watched as the man slowly nodded and rose to his feet even more slowly, but he moved at a more normal speed after that. «The rest of you, back also.» Then Eberbach turned his attention to the new men, mentally cursing Kimmich and, more to the point, General Lasch, for putting his captain through this.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Brewster went back to his stall feeling like he was walking through a dream. _More like a nightmare,_ he corrected himself. Dekker had been _that_ close to pulling out his pistol and putting a bullet right between… He squeezed his eyes closed, trying not to think about it. He remembered the concern and sorrow in his guards' voices, then the rush to get all of them in place again.

He'd known what was going on again by that point. He had even considered, _very_ briefly, raising a fuss, anything to ruin Dekker for what he had nearly done. That lasted only until he'd realized that this whole mess was just more of the same setup that was making the German think that he had to…

Jim shook his head again; this convoluted thinking was making his head hurt. He'd realized in time that Dekker had to look good if his men were to have any chance at all. At this point, it looked like _Davidson_ was the likeliest to survive. _What a crazy war._

His musings were interrupted by the sounds of a major struggle across the main aisle. A British sergeant-major was objecting strenuously to being tethered in one of the stalls. Three guards were wrestling with him, trying not to bang him up too much… then Jim realized that _he_ was still loose. On a whim, he rose and strolled across the way and looked down at the tangle reflectively. "Y'know, Sar-Major, you'd do a lot better to let them just chain you up," he quietly commented, drawing startled eyes up at him. He was still just long enough for Wenigmann to lock the shackle-cuff around his right ankle, just before the man jerked again. The Germans pulled away, leaving the Englander to curse out the other commando.

_«Thank_ you, _Unterfeldwebel_,» Wenigmann murmured with feeling as he moved out past Brewster. He went to see if his help would be needed with any of the others, glad that the worst was done.

"What th' bloody 'ell d'you think you're doin', 'elpin' th' bloody Krauts?!" the sergeant-major snarled when he finally calmed down a bit.

"I'm trying to save your ungrateful neck," Jim returned, his voice harsh but soft. "These Germans won't tolerate that kind of behavior for very long. Keep it up, and you'll only get your men killed. That's after their captain puts a bullet in _your_ head, _personally._ You doubt me, ask any of my men. Dekker—that's the CO here—he blew away our lieutenant because the guy was a jerk who couldn't read the writing on the wall. You sound a lot like him right now."

The man fell silent at that and looked at Jim more closely. "You feelin' all right, Sergeant?"

Now he smiled, rather grimly. "Sar-Major, I feel great, because I'm still alive. Dekker was about to put a bullet between _my_ eyes when you guys got here. So, yeah, I'm fine."

"An' you can still 'elp the sods?"

"Look, Sarge, I know _why _he was gonna do it. I don't have to like the reasons, or the fact that he almost killed me, but I _do_ understand why. And that makes a hell of a lot of difference. You and your men being here just made matters a lot worse. So calm down. The Swiss know about you and your men, but we're not on their lists. We're Dekker's… private property, I guess you'd say. And he is one Kraut that is _not_ to be messed with. Not if you hope to survive this war." Brewster paused, looking over his shoulder. Eberbach stood there, the others grouped behind him, surrounded by their guards.

«Come, _Unterfeldwebel_; you must eat. _Herr Hauptmann's_ Orders,» the German said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They had been walked across the yard without restraints, their guards loosely clustered around them. His men would have enfolded him in their midst if he had allowed it, but he would stand on his own two feet; Jim followed just behind Eberbach. There were still _Soldaten_ in the mess tent when they arrived; Jim could feel their eyes on them. But he heard no derogatory comments, did not feel any hostility directed towards himself or his men. If anything, he felt approval… _acceptance._

They were allowed to go through the line together instead of with Jim being held out against the others' behavior, and the guards stayed well back from where they settled to eat. But there was no conversation; that habit had been established by the earlier routine. Still, Jim almost grinned. It was like before the rest came: The food was ample, if not fantastic. At least the ersatz brew was hot here—it was more bearable that way.

They did not linger over the meal; that was not their way. Perelli and Davidson's eyes met, and they grinned. They'd noticed the anxious looks that Cook was sending their way; he didn't want to lose his kitchen help.

"Sarge, we'd better get to work, or Cook's gonna have a fit. He's spoiled now." That was Davidson, of all people, Brewster marveled.

The two got up slowly, watching their guards with care. Cook could be seen to grin when they headed his way; the guards made no attempt to stop them.

"Well, I guess we go back to our 'kennels' until it's our turn," McKeigh said, his voice light.

"No one's said, so you're probably right," Jim agreed. "I'll bet everyone's still in shock and haven't been told _what_ to do with us. Best you guys keep your heads down and stick to routine as much as possible."

Slowly and carefully, the three commandos rose from their seats and headed for the tent's entrance. They watched their guards for any indication that this would not be allowed, but the Germans made no move; they just watched their charges more closely. Jim felt like he had a huge target painted on his back as they started to cross the open ground between the tent and the barn.

They were halfway across when Jim paused. "You guys go on back," he told them. "There's someone I need to talk to." Without waiting for a reply, Brewster turned and headed for the old farmhouse. He wondered if anyone would try to stop him.

No one did, although Jim could see Wenigmann following at a discreet distance.

The front parlor had been converted into an office, occupied by a young _Gefreiter._ He stared at Jim as if the _Amerikaner_ had two heads. Jim didn't let that stop him. «Where is _Hauptmann_ Dekker's Office?» he asked, keeping his voice soft and trying for a pleasant tone. He stopped and turned suddenly, for off to his left he could hear quite a loud argument. He glanced at the young man on duty and raised one eyebrow; the _Gefreiter_ nodded unhappily.

«Wait! You can't go in there now! _Oberleutnant_ Kimm—»

But Jim ignored him and headed that way at speed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The 'discussion' had been going downhill rapidly. Dekker couldn't decide just what Kimmich had wanted to talk to him about; it had turned into a shouting match in short order and seemed about to turn violent.

Kimmich had just yelled, «Damn you, I had to give him _Something!»_ when a stocky form came barreling in and jumped him.

«You Boot-licking Son of a Bitch!» Brewster snarled, drawing back one meaty fist, ready to strike.

«Jimmy, _NO!»_ Dekker shouted in his turn, his voice strongly in command mode. To his amazement, the _Amerikaner_ froze. If he had actually _hit_ the _Offizier_… Dekker shuddered; there would have been no avoiding shooting him then. He looked at his second-in-command. «It would seem to be a Bad Idea to raise your Voice to me, _Oberleutnant_.» His dry tone drew Kimmich's eyes to his face.

«_Herr Hauptmann_… I…» Kimmich tried to speak, but couldn't find the words at first. Then he smiled. «I _said_ that he was dangerous and that I had not the Courage to try him. It would seem that I was right again. He reminds me of a Rottweiler my Uncle had when I was a Boy. _That_ Dog was frightening, also.»

«All Dogs have Teeth; that is something that one must always remember,» Dekker observed. «But enough. _You_ are on Report for the next two Weeks. I require Copies of all your Reports to him, so I am not caught out like this again. Or next Time I will not try to stop my Dog, nor will I punish him. Is that clearly understood, _Oberleutnant_?»

«_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_.» What else could he say? Kimmich gathered the shreds of his dignity around himself as he found his feet once more, and left the office as rapidly as was wise.

Jimmy glared at his retreating back as he climbed to his own feet.

«What did you think you were doing, _Hund_?»

Jimmy stiffened at the coldly spoken words, then forced himself to relax. He turned to look at his captor. «Truthfully, sir? I don't really remember _thinking_ at all, and that's… not normal for me. I just heard him yelling, and something snapped. You do too much for your Men to be stabbed in the Back that Way.» He could see Dekker shifting slightly, looking uncomfortable. «If you prefer, I can always fall back on 'no Excuse, Sir,'» he added with a grin.

Dekker looked up sharply at that. «No; that would not be a wise Course for you. _That_ would truly get you shot, and you've come too close already.

«What were you doing here, Jimmy?»

The _Kommando_ looked at Dekker briefly, then snorted softly in disgust. «That's something _else_ I don't really remember. I wanted to talk to you, but… I suppose I wanted to try to understand why you felt that you had to kill me. Besides the obvious your-Side/my-Side sort of Thing, I mean.»

Dekker looked at him long and hard, then sighed. «Go back to your Kennel, _Hund_, and be grateful for your Life. Just… know that I have less Reason to shoot you, so long as those Others are here also. Now go.»

«Sir.» He snapped, drawing himself up to attention, although he did not salute. He turned and left, thinking about the austerity of that office, decorated only with a furled flag in one corner. That had looked like an old unit pennon… it was something else to consider.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He made no detours, but went straight to the barn and his stall.

"You okay?" McKeigh asked, his curiosity aroused by the disheveled appearance of his squad sergeant.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." Brewster looked down at himself and grinned. "The SIC says that I remind him of a dog he knew as a kid."

"A _dog?!"_

"Yeah. A Rottweiler. That was after I jumped him for yelling at Dekker." Brewster was chuckling now, as much at the disbelief on his listeners' faces as at the memory. "Don't know what came over me. Dekker told the _Oberleutnant_ that it wasn't a good idea to yell at him. And, yeah, Kimmich's to blame for our new buddies' being here. He sent some sort of report in. Now the SOB's under orders to show Dekker all his reports so he doesn't get caught by surprise again."

"Well, we knew Kimmich was trouble," Connolly agreed, then shook his head. "But, a _dog?"_

"Didn't sound like he meant it as an insult, Connolly. Dekker actually looked pleased by the notion. But I think we need to find out more about this unit. Something's fishy. He's got an old unit pennon furled in his office; the only thing in the whole place that's not strictly necessary. I'd say it's seen action, too."

"Itt haz."

Brewster turned to look at Wenigmann, who looked away for a moment, then sighed. He looked back at his prisoner. «It was our Division Banner, from the old Days. Back when we still had our Honors. We were _special,_ _Unterfeldwebel_. We were proud; we were Warriors, once. Such Banners are all that is left, for us and those like us.» He paused for so long that they thought he'd finished, but he looked up and down their line once again. "We were _Waffen_-SS.»

"The SS was disbanded when Hitler and Company were taken out," McKeigh protested, then repeated himself in German when the _Panzerschütze_ looked uncertain.

«Yes, it was. But many of the _Waffen_-SS Units were left in functional Groups. You must not confuse us with the SA or SD. We were the Elite Fighting Arm of the SS, not their Prison Guards or Interrogators. Not the Scum that got seconded by the Gestapo. The Units guilty of Atrocities, _those_ were disbanded, their Members tried and the guilty imprisoned or executed. But that was not all of us.» Wenigmann was trying hard to convince his listeners; this was important, and they had to understand.

Brewster nodded slowly. «I'd heard that you were used as Shock-Troops.»

Now Wenigmann nodded, his eyes gleaming. «We were sent in when the Fighting was heaviest. When Command was afraid that the _Heer_ would break and run. The only regular Troops that even came close to us were Rommel's Afrika Korps. That Fighting is nearly done now, I've heard. Most of the Fighting is. Only Russia is left, really, and we don't want that Territory.»

_«Someone_ did, or you wouldn't have been fighting there.» McKeigh's tone was dry, and Wenigmann looked at him carefully before answering.

_«That_ was Hitler. He wanted the Ukraine, I've heard. It was one of the Reasons… We had started fighting there before he could be removed, so now we are stuck with his Final Mistake.»

«Hey, Kraut.» It was the sergeant-major across the aisle. «I thought you swore Allegiance to him, or something.»

«To him, yes. And to Germany. My Loyalty—_our_ Loyalty to _**Germany**_did not die with Hitler.» Wenigmann's eyes flashed fire now; his voice was arctic.

«Hey, easy there, _Panzerschütze_.» Brewster knew that he needed to defuse this situation fast. «He hasn't learned not to snarl yet. Don't let his Snapping get to you, okay?» He looked across the aisle. "Sar-Major, you may outrank me, but you'd better get this straight. You don't want to antagonize these guards. They've been decent to us so far, and we'd like to keep it that way. They _could_ shoot all of us out of hand; the _Kommandobefehl_ was never repealed. That covers you and your men too—Never mind that you've been listed with the Swiss. So lay off, got it?"

"You sound awfully close to th' line there, mate," the sergeant-major growled darkly. "You're not a Jerry-lover, are you?"

Brewster glared at the man. It took all his willpower not to cross over that aisle… But the Brit was shackled; _he_ was not. Not only would it not be a fair fight, but what was he to think, with them all unchained? And besides… "You know, this war is almost over," Jim said, his voice gone calm and thoughtful. "Your side is losing. We came to fight with you, and I've found that, while you're really glad to have us bleed and die for you, we're not welcome in England. Funny, huh? We came to help, knowing we wouldn't be able to go home again. It was worth it, we said; anything to stop Hitler and the Nazis. Well, he's _been_ stopped. And we _still_ can't go home. So where does that leave us?

"When they finish whipping your tails, you'll process out and go back to Merry Ol' England. So you can just shut your mouth if _we_ have to find our own solution. Got it?" He was snarling by this point, his voice low and harsh. He was shaking from the effort of controlling himself.

Wenigmann watched him, his mouth half-open in shock. Some of that tirade he'd missed, for his English was spotty, but he'd gotten the gist of it. Wisely, he kept his hands to himself, for the _Amerikaner_ was barely in control. He looked at Otto, on door duty; that guard looked as shocked as Günter himself felt.

Wenigmann looked over at the _Engl__ä__nder. _He seemed about to say something further, so he pointed his Mauser at him. It wouldn't take much more to provoke Brewster past the point of reason, he saw; better to shoot the _Engl__ä__nder_ than to risk losing _Hauptmann_ Dekker's sanity-saver. Otto would watch his back, although he doubted that Brewster would try to jump him. The others… they actually seemed to agree with their leader. But, more importantly right then, the big English sergeant-major was backing down, his hands half-raised placatingly. He backed up into his stall and sat down under the manger-ring, his shackle chain a puddle of metal links beside him.

Wenigmann turned to face the Amerikaner. «_Herr Unterfeldwebel_…»

But Brewster cut him off. «No. Let that go, _Panzerschütze_. Just call me Jimmy. _He_ does. Let the Rest go, all right?» Then he turned and retreated into his stall and curled up on his blankets, shutting out the world.

Wenigmann looked over at McKeigh, who shrugged and grinned. «He's right, you know. _'For uz, ze var iz ovfer.'» _His grin widened at the young German's grimace. «It's true, though. _We_ got nowhere to go after the Shooting stops. We're out of it, no matter what. And we never had the same Stake in it that the English and French did. Our Country never got into it, never got bombed. They're in their own little World— smartest thing Hitler ever did was not declaring War on us, although he probably would have eventually.

«But now, we just gotta wait and see what your Side plans to do with us. I know that I never thought past the Fighting. And who in his right Mind _expects_ his Side to lose? Anyway, as long as I don't get slapped around much, I'm done fightin' you Guys. It ain't worth getting' killed now, just to give you Grief. It sure won't change anything else. I think the rest o' the Guys feel about the same— I know Davidson don't want _any_ Trouble; he just wants to survive this. So, you Guys treat us good, and we'll play nice with you. Fair? It's what the Sarge was sayin'.»

«Jimmy,» Wenigmann corrected with a grin of his own. «And you are…?»

It took him aback for a moment, then McKeigh grinned also. "I'm Kevin. _Or_ McKeigh, but… Kevin, I think. How 'bout you, Connolly?"

The PFC actually stopped to think about that. Finally, he sighed. "Better make it Connolly in public, or formally. But it's Larry among Friends." His grin slipped as he glared across the aisle at the sergeant-major. _"He's_ not included among 'Friends'. The Jury's not in on the rest, yet; they've kept really quiet."

Wenigmann looked at McKeigh. «Kevin,» he corrected himself. «He is Connolly, yes?»

«Yeah. An' Larry to a select Few. You might be included in that,» Kevin started to translate, but was cut off.

«Yes, he's included. Most of our Guards, probably; at least just in here, among ourselves. I think the _Hauptmann_ will be happier with 'Connolly', though. He hasn't noticed me much, and we didn't get on all that well…» He let the rest of this thought go unsaid, due to the presence of the English commandos across the aisle. «Better for us lower Ranks to stick with our last Names.»

«You have a Point,» the young German agreed. He paused, then nodded, his decision reached. «Among us, I am Günter. Since I am, apparently, one of your Keepers.»

Connolly choked as he tried to swallow a snicker. At the German's cocked eyebrow, he gave up. «One of our Kennel-Men. At least you don't have to clean our Runs; _we're_ Housebroken.»

Even Jimmy had to join in the laughter over that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

July 10th, 1942

Johann Dekker stepped outside the mess tent and stretched, taking a moment to gaze about upon his domain. He ignored the man who exited behind him, knowing that he was in no danger from him. The _Amerikaner_ was dangerous, true, but not for him. An unusual situation, to say the least, but that was how things stood now.

It had been a week since the British commandos had been dropped on his hands, and he had had no trouble from his 'Hounds,' as everyone had started to call the _Amerikaner._ They had been loose from their chains during the day, shackled only at night now. And _that_ required only Wenigmann or Hinkes to accomplish; they gave no resistance. Yesterday they'd gone running with some of the guards for exercise; it was reported that there had been no attempts at escape. He smirked slightly; the _Engl__ä__nders_ had been exercised in front of the barn, and that sergeant-major now had a bullet-wound in one leg. That would be his only warning; any further incidents, and he would be shot dead. Even his own men were staying clear of him, not wishing to become "collateral damage." The man took every opportunity to bait Jimmy.

He stopped and scowled at the motorcycle messenger that had just pulled up in front of the farmhouse. _Now_ _what?_ he fumed. It had been too quiet; he just _knew…_

"Jimmy, _komm' mit,"_ he snapped as he headed that way himself, heeled by the stocky commando and the brown dog.

_Gefreiter_ Jäger watched his _Hauptmann_ enter and held his breath. It looked like trouble; _der Rottweiler_ was at his heels today. The courier's bag was still on his desk, and _Hauptmann_ Dekker was glaring at it, as if it were his personal enemy. Jäger's hands trembled as he undid the buckles that held the bag closed. He was a recent replacement and found that most of the men in this unit scared him silly, although he could not say why. They felt like… caged tigers. Even _der Rottweiler_ wasn't as frightening, and he was no one to take liberties with, either. He pulled the dispatches out, under his captain's eyes, fumbling with the papers more as Dekker's scowl deepened.

«_He_ doesn't bite, you know. _**I**_ do.»

Jäger's eyes jerked up to stare at the _Amerikaner_ in shock, a nearly hysterical giggle escaping him. Still, even though he blushed slightly, the joke relaxed him enough that he was able to sort the dispatches efficiently. He handed Dekker his mail and rose to bring _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich his.

Dekker looked back at his companion. «Am I so fearsome as that, Jimmy?» he murmured, his brow furrowed.

«You're supposed to be, to a Kid like that,» Brewster replied. «I bet he's never even **seen** Combat.»

«Hmmm.» Dekker quietly scanned through his mail as he walked into his office, Brewster forgotten now. He settled behind his desk to open the one sealed envelope in the lot, then cursed as he read the contents: _You are to report to the _Panzerlaager _for a complete physical…_

«_**Sheiße**_!»

«I take it that's not good News?»

Dekker jerked his head up to glare at the _Amerikaner._ What was he— No. He was here because he had not been dismissed, because he had been told to come with him. Slowly Dekker calmed himself. «No. It is not good News. And I do not know who to blame for it… yet.»

«Well, you can probably blame it on Lasch, ultimately. I wouldn't blame _Oberleut'_ Kimmich, though.»

Brewster was the voice of reason; no doubt that was why he'd told him to come. «No; this is not Kimmich's Fault.» Dekker leaned back in his chair, making himself calm down. He'd had physicals before; why was he so upset over this one? He was rested; he'd been eating…

The nightmares.

«You will have to come with me,» Dekker said, looking up at his Hound… No. His Rottweiler.

«O-_kay._ Where are we going?» Jimmy asked, not really expecting an answer.

Dekker looked him straight in the eyes. _**«We**_ are going where this whole _**Unit**_ should have gone: to _Panzerlaager_ 17. It is one of our main staging and repair Bases. It is an SS Base, near Brünn (Brno) in the _Tschechische Republik_ (Czech Republic).»

Brewster could feel the short hairs on the back of his neck rising. An SS base— _former_ SS base, he corrected his thought. «That's not good,» he agreed. «How're you going to explain _me?»_

«I don't know yet,» Dekker admitted with a scowl as he thought about the base. The scowl cleared somewhat as he remembered something. «But I will call to arrange Quarters. I believe that I know someone stationed there who might help me.

«Go back to your Kennel, _Hund_. And Jimmy?» The _Kommando_ paused, looking back at Dekker, who actually grinned at him. «Do not bite that Englander; there's no telling what you'll catch from him.»

Brewster laughed and nodded, then saluted and left his Hauptmann to his own thoughts.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

«Hey, Müller, who do you know with the Pull to make a Phone Call?»

_Oberleutnant_ Steffan Müller looked up from his book. «What?»

«You have a Phone Call. Who do you kn—»

He was up and grabbing for the handset, ignoring Krieger. Krieger was a jerk, after all… «_Oberleutnant_ Müller here; how can I assist you?» There was, after all, no telling _who_ was calling.

«Steffan? This is Johann Dekker. You are well?»

Slowly, Müller sat down. Talk about shocks! How had Dekker survived this long? «_Ja_, I'm very well. I am… surprised, is all. It's been a long Time, Johann.»

«It has, that. Listen, I've Orders to report for a Physical in three Days. Do you think that you can arrange Quarters for me? I'm… bringing someone with me, Steffan.»

«Certainly, although Companionship is easy to arrange here; there is the Camp next to us…»

«This is not that Sort of… I will explain when I get there, all right? I may even take you up on that other Offer.» Dekker's sigh was clear even over the static on the line.

«As I said, it should not be a Problem. You do have Orders, after all. What are you now, a _Major_?» Müller was cautious with his questions, for he knew the situation only too well. He had managed to avoid such attention himself, but only barely.

«No. _Hauptmann_. I will see you in three Days, Steffan. _Auf Wiedersehen_.» With that, he hung up the phone.

_Dekker, coming here. Well, well. Will wonders never cease…_

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

«Jimmy, are you and the Others _sure_ about this?» Wenigmann was actually unhappy over this …_prank… _of the _Amerikaner._ Oh, yes, it was certainly amusing to them, but what would _Hauptmann_ Dekker think?

«Hey, it's okay, Günter. I've heard _him_ calling us his Hounds; he calls _me_ his Rottweiler to my Face.» Jimmy was laughing, the others nodding in agreement. «It only makes Sense that you collar your Dogs and put ID Tags on 'em. You got those Tags struck with his Name on 'em? Let's see.» Brewster reached out and took the handful of German _Erkennungsmarken _(ID tags) from the young guard. «'Property of Johann Dekker.'That's his Name? Johann? Hey, this is your Tag, Larry; says 'Connolly' on it. These are great! Where are the Collars?»

«Here; I got them from the MPs Yesterday when I had Leave. I don't think they'll go over your Heads, though.» He still felt uncertain about this, but the men were obviously enjoying themselves. _Amerikaner_ had such a strange sense of humor…

«We'll take them over to the Repair Section and have the Ring cut, then welded shut once they're on. They'll sit below our Shirt-Collars most of the Time, I think. I figure, we put one of our Service Disks on it, and our 'Dekker' Tags. You _do_ know that us Americans call our Service Disks '_Hundemarken'?_» (Dogtags)

Günter's eyes grew wide, and he broke down laughing with the commandos. _Now_ the joke made sense. «_Komm'_, then; the Repair Crews will be nearly done for the Day and can weld these for you.»

They clustered around their guard, going deep into what was normally forbidden territory. They were unaware that pale, cold eyes watched them go. He waited; they were all out again in under an hour, laughing at some great joke. He would see if Brewster would still be laughing later that night.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Late in the evening, Brewster climbed the back stairs of the old farmhouse with a light step. Things had been pretty good this past week, he thought. No guards anymore; they just told him when Dekker wanted him there, and he went. Why not? Dekker never did anything but hold him. Not what he'd ordinarily prefer in bed, but, hey, he could live with it. It was keeping the German on an even keel, and increasing his men's chances of survival, so he could do this. It actually helped that the chains were being left off at night now. So he went up, tapped on the door, and went in when there was no answer. Then he stopped, suddenly aware that there was a PROBLEM. The room was dim, the lamp turned down low; he almost hadn't seen Dekker, sitting in the chair on the far side of the bed, but he definitely saw the Mauser pistol now, aimed in his direction. Slowly he closed the door behind himself and moved a bit further into the room. «_Herr Hauptmann_?» he asked, careful to keep his voice down.

«You were in the Maintenance Section Today.» Not a question, but a statement of fact.

«Yes, Sir, we were,» he confirmed. He had no reason to lie about it, and that was always a Bad Idea with Dekker anyway.

«You know that it is forbidden to you.»

This did not sound good. «We were under Escort, Sir.»

«You did not have Permission, did you?»

Oops. «No, Sir.» Definitely no excuse, it would seem.

«Do you know _why_ you are forbidden that Area, Jimmy?»

Oh, _very_ Not Good. «You're concerned that we might engage in Sabotage and/or arm ourselves, Sir. You don't want the Guards to become used to seeing us there, lest they become Lax—which is highly unlikely, due to their Origins and early Training… Sir.»

Dekker stared at him coldly for several minutes, waiting to see if the _Kommando_ would grow uneasy. He did not, but that did not exclude guilt; it could merely indicate very steady nerves. «Why were you in the Maintenance Section, Jimmy?» His voice had grown soft and gentle, a _very_ bad sign.

Brewster sighed. «Sir, we were engaging in something you will no doubt see as utter Idiocy. I suppose it is, but when we were planning it, it seemed like a really great Joke—»

Dekker cut him off. «This was planned in advance.»

«Yes, Sir, although we weren't sure…» Now he stopped himself; he didn't want to get Wenigmann into more trouble than he already was. «Sir, we went in because we needed to have something welded. We were nowhere near Munitions Storage, Sir.»

«And what was this 'Joke'?" Dekker went back to an earlier statement. He had become quite good with interrogations over the years, rarely forgetting anything said to him.

Brewster took a deep breath before beginning. «Sir, you know how you and a number of the Men have been calling us your Hounds? Well, add that to the Fact that _we_ call our Identity Disks, '_Dogtags_'… We had some Dog Collars made up, Sir.»

Dekker stared at him. _Dog collars?_ Why ever would they… His mind was refusing to wrap itself around the concept. «Hundehalsbanden,» he repeated, his mind numb.

«Yes, Sir. You know, the chain ones that you use on the Sentry Dogs? We… uh, we added our Dogtags to those, with an ID Disk…» His voice faded off at the blank look on Dekker's face.

«And why are they welded?» Dekker finally asked slowly, not sure if he would be able to make any more sense of this answer than he had of the previous ones.

«Well, Sir, they wouldn't slip on over our Heads—too small, you see. Besides, we really didn't mean for them to be removable. Sir.» He actually bit his lower lip as he waited for Dekker's next query.

«Show me.» Dekker stood now and motioned towards the lamp.

Jim moved over to "his" side of the bed and turned the wick up, then reached to unbutton his shirt. The German stared at the two tags thus revealed, lying just below the hollow of Brewster's neck. The chain glinted silvery-gold in the lamplight, drawing the German toward him. Jimmy moved into a form of parade rest, his hands clasped behind his back. Slowly Dekker approached, drawn to the tags despite himself.

Yes, there was the _Amerikaner_ "dog tag," rectangular instead of round like the ones the British used, despite the fact that Jimmy had been in England's service. But the other—that was a German tag. He turned it over to read the stamped information and stared for long moments. Then his eyes met Brewster's—his Rottweiler—and he howled with laughter. After all his suspicions, to find it was _this!_

Slowly he got control of himself again. «And… and all of you have this?» he gasped out finally.

Brewster shrugged, a slow smile growing on his face. «Just your Hounds, Sir. Just your Hounds.»

Dekker smiled slightly, lost in thought, then looked back at his _Kommando._ «We leave Tomorrow for _Panzerlaager_17. Before we go, we will add one more Layer of Security for you, I think. You do not have a _Gefangenernummer_; we will use your Service ID and mine, I think. They will be tattooed for sure Identification. The Others can be done while we are gone, but _you_ will need to be done first thing in the Morning. I will have you marked like the old SS were, on your Side, beneath your left Arm. It is not obvious that way, but it cannot be lost without losing your Life also.»

Brewster felt a moment of panic; then, strangely, he calmed. Tattoos were so… permanent, unlike their "dog collars." It was sounding like Dekker meant to try to keep them for the long haul, not just until the war's end. That might solve _one_ of their problems, even if it did land them with Dekker's enemy as their own—not a bad deal, at that. He grinned and came to attention. «_Zu Befehl_,» he said, and smiled.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

His eyes ached, and his side itched abominably. Those were Brewster's first thoughts as he turned the _Kubelwagon_ in at the gated entrance and waited for the sentries to come asking for their IDs. They had gotten it down to a pattern now, after the mild panic at the first roadblock they'd encountered. Now Jim sat with his hands behind his head while the guard stared in shock to see a non-German uniform on the vehicle's driver.

Dekker, naturally, had his papers and orders all ready for the guard's perusal. «I am _Hauptmann_ Dekker,» he calmly announced. "This Man is my personal Charge. Here are my Orders; I believe that I am expected.»

«_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_, but, Sir, you cannot bring this Man in here; he is an Allied _Soldat_.»

«He is _my_ Prisoner, _Soldat_, and he comes with me. There should be Quarters waiting for me; I can secure him there. Or send for your Sergeant of the Guard if you must; just be quick. I have come a long way Today; I wish to rest and eat, and I must still see to him.» Dekker fought not to let his irritation seep through. Honey, not vinegar, if possible, he thought with a wry chuckle.

It took some time and a call to the commander of the base's security detail, but at last they were through and heading for the Base Administrative Offices to get their assignment for, and directions to, the visiting officers' billets.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

«Hey Müller!» Cautiously the man so called looked up at his interrogator, who continued «You know a Guy named Dekker, right?"

«Ja, I know _Hauptmann_ Dekker; he's coming here…»

«Not '_coming_'. He's here, and he has a _Kommando_ with him.» Reismann was nearly trembling with excitement.

«Oh? What Unit is he with?» Müller let his own curiosity out now, as he rose and picked up his cap; he meant to meet his friend and discuss 'companionship' with him.

«He's not one of ours, not in a British Uniform!»

«_**Was**__?_!!!» and Müller was out the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There was already quite a crowd of on-lookers as Decker swung out of the _Kubelwagon_, a set of manacles dangling from his hand. He had given this a great deal of thought on their journey, and had decided that this was the best way to protect his Hound. Jimmy already knew, so there would – or _should_ – not be a problem over this. The _Amerikaner_ stayed motionless in his seat as Dekker came around the front of their vehicle. His hands rested on the steering wheel, clearly visible to all until Dekker reached his side and opened the door. Only then did he climb, slowly and carefully, out to stand before his captor.

Dekker turned him to face the '_wagon; _Brewster placed his hands behind his back, and stayed steady as the cuffs locked shut. This was the part he _didn't_ like; he knew what he could expect from the men at Dekker's Camp, but here there were many who out-ranked the _Hauptmann_. He could only pray that Dekker could protect him.

«Johann!»

Dekker turned sharply at the sound of his name, and allowed a brief smile to cross his lips. «Steffan! It is good to see you; you look well.»

"As do you, Johann." Müller came to a halt before his friend, smiled, then snapped to attention and saluted. «_Herr Hauptmann_, allow me to assist you,» he said, as the salute was returned, the picture of a correct, professional soldier.

«Certainly, _Oberleutnant_ Müller. If you can find someone to carry my Bags in for me, I will get my Quarters-assignment. We can speak once I am there, perhaps.»

«_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann. Obergefreiter_ Stohl can help you inside; he knows you are coming.» Ah, yes; the game must be played out properly, in public at least. Müller watched as his old crèche-mate turned and entered the building, trailed by his prisoner. Questions would have to wait until later. He turned and snagged the two closest _Soldaten_ to carry the bags for this most unusual visitor.

Dekker created quite a stir inside the billeting office—or rather, his Hound did. Brewster stood quietly at parade rest behind him while he filled out the required paperwork, a model of good behavior. And Dekker had hoped that they'd escape unnoticed by the higher brass, but he really should have known better; headquarters-types gossiped worse than a women's social club.

«_Herr Hauptmann, Oberst_ Glasner would like to see you.»

Dekker looked around and hid his sigh. This was no doubt the colonel's personal secretary, for the young woman was professionally, almost severely, dressed. «Certainly, _Fräulein_,» he responded, trying for a pleasant tone. He moved towards the door she indicated, pausing only to call softly over his shoulder, «Jimmy, _komm' mit_.»

Now Brewster was worried, but he moved from where he'd been waiting, to fall in at Dekker's heel. _Woof,_ he thought to himself, but even his mental chuckle felt strained. Silently he followed Dekker into the colonel's presence.

Dekker strode into the office, came to attention, and saluted. «_Hauptmann_ Dekker reporting, Sir,» he announced, his voice crisp and assured. He'd heard about Glasner, but the tales had conflicted. He wondered which were accurate.

«At ease, Dekker,» _Oberst_ Glasner said smoothly as he looked the young _Offizier_ over with a critical eye. He knew the _Hauptmann_ had been called in for a physical; he also knew that those orders had been delayed by someone, keeping _General_ Lasch from cashiering a good man. Apparently the ploy had been successful, for this young Panzer commander looked very good indeed. This young man should have been much higher in rank, judging by the reports of his exploits and by the service awards on his uniform. But Lasch was a bad enemy.

Speaking of enemies… «What are you doing, traveling around Germany with an Enemy of the _Reich_? Are you providing a guided Tour of our secure Installations?»

«Uhm… no, _Herr Oberst_.» Dekker paused, wondering which of his several explanations might be best. He shrugged. «Jimmy is my Hound, _Herr Oberst_. We took him and his Men, oh, I'd say a Month ago, more or less. Four Weeks, _Herr Oberst_,» he corrected himself at Glasner's scowl. «He is the ranking Survivor; there are four more at my Headquarters. They are good Workers, so we keep them, allowing my Men to concentrate on Tasks more beneficial to our glorious Cause. They gave no Trouble when I was there; to ensure their continued Cooperation, I brought Jimmy with me. He will give me no Grief, since a simple Phone Call could have his Men executed… or worse.

«I will leave him confined to my Quarters while I see to my Business here, _Herr Oberst_; he will cause no Problems.»

«It is unusual for a fighting Panzer Battalion to keep Prisoners with them, is it not, _Hauptmann_?»

«I thought so, _Herr Oberst_; we did not even report these as officially taken, to… cut down on unpleasant Repercussions, should we need to dispose of them. But then _General_ Lasch sent us eight registered British Commandos to hold. _They_ are a Problem; my _Amerikaner_ are not.» Dekker kept all emotion out of his voice only by supreme effort.

«This is an _Amerikaner_?» Glasner looked more carefully at the prisoner who waited behind Dekker.

«Yes, Sir, he and his Men. I was forced to execute their _Leutnant_; the Man was too much Trouble. These took that Lesson very much to Heart.»

«I see.» Glasner pursed his lips thoughtfully as he studied the captive, then looked over at Dekker. «I was going to insist that he be turned over to the nearest _Stalag_, but I can see where that might not be the best Course. You are certain that you can contain him in your Quarters?»

«_Herr Oberst_, I do not really need to keep him chained; that is only to prevent unfortunate Misunderstandings. He will _stay_ in my Quarters as he is told. I actually feel sorry for anyone who tries to remove him without my Permission. At my Camp, my Men call him my Rottweiler. So do I, in Fact. He will be contained.»

«Very well, then. You may go, _Hauptmann_ Dekker. You _and _your 'Hound.'» Glasner smiled his small, grim smile and accepted Dekker's salute. After the young Panzer commander left, he picked up his phone and dialed. «Fritz? This is Otto… Yes, Dekker is here. Lasch is trying to bring him down again. Can you look into it? He sent Prisoners to Dekker's Unit… _Ja_, that would be _gut… Was_? _Nein_; Dekker looks _gut_. The Delay was apparently long enough… _Ja_; I will keep you informed. _Ende_.»

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Müller was waiting by the _Kubelwagon_ when they came out. «I have sent some Men to wait for us at your Quarters, _Herr Hauptmann_; it would be best if we drove there,» he quietly announced as he held Dekker's door open. «I will drive, if you wish.»

Dekker raised an eyebrow, but nodded. «Very well; I will put Jimmy in the back, then.» He turned to his _Kommando_ and motioned him forward; when he reached the side of the vehicle, Dekker turned him slightly and removed the manacle from his right wrist. «Inside,» he ordered, and Brewster complied without hesitation. They still had a good-sized audience, so he settled back in the seat, his hands still in his lap.

The two Germans ignored him as they took their own seats and drove off to the waiting barracks.

«We really don't need anyone to carry the Bags in» Dekker admitted as Müller parked the _'Wagon._ «There is not that much, and Jimmy could handle it.» He watched the two _Soldaten_ come over and open the boot to retrieve their baggage, then sighed and got out himself. One look brought his _Amerikaner_ out also, to fall in at his heels. In silence they followed _Oberleutnant_ Müller up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway, finally stopping before their door.

«These are actually Quarters for married _Offizieren_, but…» Müller explained quietly as he unlocked the door and let it swing open. «We are slightly understaffed at the Moment, and most of our married Personnel are keeping their Families in safer Areas. This Base is considered a prime Target, although the British do not seem to have the Capability any longer to strike so deeply into our Territory. Now we just worry about the Russians.»

«This will be more than adequate,» Dekker assured his friend, then accepted the salutes of the departing _Soldaten,_ the bags having been left in the bedroom.

Dekker sighed as the doors closed behind them, and he visibly relaxed. «Thank _Gott_ we are through with that,» he muttered as he removed the remaining cuff from his Hound's wrist. Without comment, the commando turned and began to prowl around the small apartment, clearly looking for listening devices. Satisfied at last, he looked at Dekker.

«Clean, Sir,» he reported, his voice still carefully lowered.

«Johann, _was_…?» Müller began, fading off as Dekker just grinned and settled into a chair.

«Have a Seat, Steffan. No, there is no deep Mystery here,» he chuckled at the look on his old crèche-mate's face. «Jimmy—_Unterfeldwebel_ Brewster—is an _Amerikanischer Kommando_. My Men and I captured him and his Men four Weeks ago. I kept them; now they are mine, for they can see the way the War is going, and there will be nothing for them in England afterwards.

«Everything I told _Herr Oberst_ Glasner is the absolute Truth, so you may relax. Jimmy is here in part to ensure that his remaining Men behave themselves during my absence.»

«I see. Forgive me, Johann; you just took me by Surprise,» Müller admitted. «Do you not still have a Dog? I had made Arrangements…»

«Ah, you remembered that?» Dekker looked slightly ashamed, then grinned. «I left the Dog back at my Headquarters. My Orderly is seeing to her.» Now his face fell. «You heard about our Assignments?»

«_Ja_. Lasch is a bad Enemy, Johann. He is _really_ trying to get you killed.»

«I think that there must be someone trying to help me, though.» Dekker was thoughtful. «If these Orders had come when we first got back from Russia, I would probably have failed a Physical. I was a Wreck, Steffan. The Dog was not enough.» He looked grim. «Other… Problems developed, in addition to the Nightmares. Now I must select all Companionship with great Care, lest I let Secrets slip.»

Müller looked at him, puzzled, then shifted his gaze to the silent _Amerikaner,_ as if looking for answers there.

Jimmy shrugged. «He talks in his Sleep, just before the Nightmares start,» he said, his voice extra soft. It seemed that the _Oberl__eutnant_ knew an awful lot about Dekker.

Now Dekker looked at his friend, pain in his eyes. «I do not _like_ having to shoot Women, Steffan.»

«No; none of us would like that. If you wish, I… _we_ can try to find someone suitable from the Camp next door. They sign out Companions all the Time, now. They are trying to place the Inmates, but there are so many.»

Brewster had seen the large prison camp that they'd passed as they'd come here. He'd thought that it was for POWs, although he'd wondered that they would place such a camp so close to a military base. He hadn't seen any of the prisoners; a high, solid wall had blocked the view. Now he wondered and didn't care for the thoughts that came to mind.

«I… will consider it, Steffan,» Dekker was saying, sounding very cautious and hesitant.

«Most of us sign out one every now and then.» Müller was looking everywhere but at his friend. «I do, but when she starts to seem like she can't stand me anymore, I leave Money enough for a fresh Start and send her shopping or some such, with enough Opportunity for her to 'escape.' It's all I can do. This way, at least they have a Chance to acclimate a little, before they try to survive on their own. Some were _so_ young when they were taken, Johann, it breaks my Heart.»

Dekker's face had hardened at the start of this confession, but now he was nodding thoughtfully. «_Ja_, I can see that. It must be hard on _you,_ though, when they leave you.»

Müller looked at him carefully, trying to see if he were being mocked. At last he sighed. «It is never easy to accept Rejection, Johann. You know that better than anyone, I would say. I suppose that I am used to it by now. They stay about a Month or two; then I let them go. Several of us have been doing this for a Year now; I have no idea what the Camp Authorities think that we are doing with these Women. They don't seem to care, either. They treat it like a big Joke, as if we were like the old SD Guards that used to be here.»

«It's a Concentration Camp for Women,» Brewster's voice cut in, hard and cold. If he'd been a dog in truth, his teeth would have been bared, his ruff up.

«Yes. Fortunately, _that_ Idiocy was stopped with Hitler's, Goering's, and Himmler's deaths. But _we_ were left with the Problem to clean up.» Müller's voice was nearly as hard. «Many of these People have been locked up for Years, _Amerikaner_. You cannot just open the Gates and let them out. Their Homes, their Businesses—their _Lives_ are gone, and too much Public Opinion was turned against them. It would not matter that most are innocent of any Crime. They would die or be killed. It will take a long Time to reintegrate these People, and we _still_ have a War to finish. So we do what we can, a few at a Time. And if some of us get temporary Mistresses out of it, at least we are trying to do _something.»_

Still he bristled, until Dekker spoke. «Enough, Jimmy. In their Way, they are no different than you and your Men. They do what they have to, to survive, even as they are taken Advantage of. You will be wise to keep your Outrage to yourself; _you_ did not live through what Germany was made to be by the _Nazis_.» He turned to Müller. «The only way I could take one would be if she were deaf, or hard of hearing. And she would have to volunteer. I will _not_ condone Rape.»

Müller nodded. «I will have Rachel go and ask later this Evening. But will you join us for Dinner? Rachel—my current Mistress—is actually a good Cook. We were hoping you would come. You can even bring your…»

«My Hound,» Dekker said softly, then laughed. «Actually, my Rottweiler. You saw why, yourself.»

«_Ja_. You may bring your Rottweiler, so long as he is Civil. I would not like to see Rachel hurt by thoughtless Words. None of this is her Fault.»

«You care for her. How long has this one been with you?» To his surprise, Dekker found that he actually cared.

«Two Months. The previous one is still in Town, although I stay away from her. She found a Job, and I do not wish to spoil things for her. I believe that Rachel has met her, though.» His face told how interesting _that_ must have been.

Dekker snorted with suppressed laughter. «No Doubt it made for an interesting Conversation. But I will be pleased to have Dinner with you. And Jimmy will behave himself. _Danke, mein Freund. Danke_.»

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Rachel, it turned out, was a tall, dark-haired beauty who really _could_ cook. She welcomed Dekker warmly, a perfect hostess, although she seemed uncertain of Jimmy. For his part, Brewster was a perfect gentleman, doing what he could to set her at ease, and so the dinner went very well. To her surprise, the _Amerikanischer_ prisoner volunteered to do the dishes and pots from the meal; by the _Hauptmann's_ reaction, the offer took him by surprise also.

The three of them sat and talked while Brewster cleaned up, Dekker and Müller catching up on each other's lives. At last, Müller sighed.

«We must go now, to see if any will come. I will not send Rachel there alone; _you_ understand, I am certain.»

Dekker rose reluctantly, for he was relaxed for the first time in longer than he could remember. «_Ja_, Steffan. And I must rise early, for I have a preliminary Appointment at 0800 at the Hospital. A _Doktor_ Weiss. Do you know him?»

«I have heard of him,» Müller said with a frown. «He's a cold-hearted Snake. Get a good Night's Sleep, Johann.»

«With a good Companion, that should be no Problem,» Dekker said, masking his concern.

«Well, then, we'd best go. I will see you when we're back, whether we find someone or not,» Müller promised. The _Kommando_ appeared from the kitchen unsummoned, proving Müller's suspicion that the man had been monitoring their conversation all evening.

«Again, my friend, _Danke_. I will see you later,» Dekker agreed, then took his leave, heeled by his Rottweiler.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The girl's name was Anna; her records claimed her to be twenty-four years of age. Dark hair, vaguely Slavic features; she was supposedly Polish. Dekker looked her over, much as if she had been a horse offered for sale. He gave a mental snort. If she _had_ been a horse, he'd have refused her, for she was much too thin. Pretty enough, he supposed; most wouldn't turn her away at any rate.

He terrified her; that much was obvious. Still, she stood still for his inspection and tried to hide her tremors. No doubt _she_ knew what he was—what he had been, that was. She would have seen too much of the old SD, and no other troops moved quite the way the _Schutzstaffel_ did. He had to give her credit for courage, at least.

Supposedly, she was hard of hearing—something about a shell landing too close when her ghetto was cleared out. Dekker tested that by speaking quietly to Jimmy while standing behind her. Her head didn't move until after the commando'sdid, and obviously in reaction to his movement. He supposed that he would do little better… And so he moved around in front of her. «So. I am told that you hear a little, and that you read Lips. This is so?» he asked, his voice raised slightly.

«_Jawohl, mein Herr… Herr Hauptmann_, I mean.» She was worried, and flustered now over her slip. She tried to judge his temper, but could see no change.

«Gently, Girl; I do not bite _too_ badly,» Dekker tried to joke, to ease her fears, but he knew that it would take more than that. Jimmy still looked angry over this, but he wisely kept silent.

«You know why you are here? You came willingly?» Dekker pressed, for this was important to him. «I don't want anyone who has been forced to come to me.»

«No one forced me, _Herr Hauptmann_,» she said, looking even unhappier over that confession.

He could wish that he hadn't pressed the question. He had not meant to imply… but anything he said beyond this would only make matters worse. He restrained his angry growl, then looked over where his friend waited. «Very well, Steffan; I believe that… Anna… will suit me fine. Thank you for finding her for me.»

«_Sehr gut_, Johann. I will see you Tomorrow, then. Perhaps we will eat out? Unfortunately, you will have to leave your Hound here, but Anna can come with us. Rachel will try to get her something better to wear.»

«I will take her myself; it should not take me all Day Tomorrow. Dinner out sounds wonderful. Perhaps some Dancing, also?

«Do you dance, Anna?» He turned to her and saw confusion in her eyes, then realized that he hadn't been facing her when he'd asked his question. His voice gentle, he repeated himself.

«No, _Herr Hauptmann_. I am sorry; I do not know how.»

«No Matter; I will teach you, then.» He tried a smile and was surprised to see her draw back from him. _Ah, well,_ he thought. _We will survive this._

«I will leave you then. Here is her Bag with what little she had to bring.» Müller held it out as if to pass it to Dekker, but Jimmy stepped forward to accept it.

«_Danke, Herr Oberleutnant_,» he said, his voice stiffly formal. Inwardly, he raged. How could these people treat this poor woman this way? It was all he could do to keep his face neutral and hold his tongue, but somehow he managed, stepping back to his place at the side of the room.

Dekker watched his friend leave, giving a sigh of relief only after the door firmly closed and was locked by Jimmy. He looked at the _Kommando,_ his face grim. «Do _**not**_ say anything, _versteht'_?»

«_Jawohl, mein Hauptmann_,» Brewster managed to get out in a nearly normal tone, although Dekker could hear his unhappiness in his voice.

But the German was turning to face Anna now. «Do you cook?» he asked, and he could see the surprise in her eyes. So she had not expected _that.»_

«_Ja, Herr Haupt_…»

«Johann. My name is Johann. Will you say that?» The formality was too much for him suddenly.

«_Ja_…Johann.» She was uncertain about this, but was not about to argue the matter.

«_Gut_. I must sleep Tonight, so you will have the Bed in the Orderly's Room. I will send Jimmy out with a Note, first thing in the Morning, and you will fix whatever he can obtain for Breakfast. I take it that you will not try to run?»

«No.» She didn't know what to make of this. Why did he want her there, if not for… But his prisoner looked happier at this arrangement, and that was puzzling also. She suddenly realized that this _Hauptmann_ was trying to get her attention, and she blushed.

«Jimmy will explain Tomorrow, when I have gone to do what I must here. It is late; go to Bed, Anna. I will see you Tomorrow.» Then Dekker turned and went into his bedroom, leaving her alone with the one he'd called Jimmy.

«This way, _Fräulein_—or should it be _Frau_?» he asked.

«_Fr…Fräulein_.» Her eyes were huge. Was the master leaving her at the mercy of his man?

«_Fräulein_ Anna, your Room is this way,» Brewster tried again, although he made no attempt to touch her. He stepped back, allowing her to precede him up the short inner hallway, and indicated a closed door. «Just let me get my Stuff out. The Bath is there, to your Left. I'll see you in the Morning, _Fräulein. Gute Nacht_.» And he left her there, staring in shocked wonder at his retreating back.

The sun was barely up when Brewster stretched and hauled himself out of Dekker's bed. He'd pulled the German out of… well, he called them pre-nightmares, four times this night just past. He was exhausted, although it looked like Dekker was well rested.

He had to grin at what a sly devil Dekker was. Word would get around that the girl had been signed out for him, and, as far as the base would know, he'd been sleeping with her. Everything nice and normal. _Alles in ordnung._ Oh, yeah. That wasn't to say that he _wouldn't_ sleep with her eventually, but at least she'd have a chance to get to know him a little first.

Of course, she'd have to come back to base with them… Jim wondered if Dekker had thought of that yet. He would, no doubt. He was too used to watching his back.

Slowly he made his way into the bathroom to wash up and dress. Dekker had written out a quick permission slip before he'd gone to bed, so Jim let himself out of the apartment and headed out. Now all he had to do was find the mess hall—no, the officers' mess—and survive the trip. He had some thoughts on _that_ score.

He made his way down to the main entrance and cautiously looked out. Ah, yes; _there_ was the guard that he'd expected to find. He quietly closed the door, then walked heavily up to it and opened it again. Good, he thought; the man was looking his way. _"Nicht shießen,"_ he called as he came out into sight. He stood still so the guard could get a good look at him—Yep; he was edgy, all right. «I have Orders from my _Hauptmann, Soldat_. Could you give me Escort?»

«You are trying to escape!»

«Sorry, but no. I'm under Parole, so Escape is out. This is not my Idea of a good Place to try it, either. Besides, I'm hungry. I'm supposed to go to the Officers' Mess and bring back the Fixings for Breakfast. I've got a Note, _and_ my Handcuffs and Key, if you want 'em. I'm just trying to obey my Orders, same as you.»

The German looked confused—who wouldn't be?—and stared for long moments at the commando. Then Jimmy heard a second set of boots approaching at a run—the sentry from the other side of the building, no doubt. Jimmy grinned at him as he rounded the corner. «_Guten Morgen_. My _Hauptmann_ gave me a Pass; could you give me Escort? He's expecting his Breakfast soon.» He twitched his fingers, drawing attention to the paper he held in his right hand.

«Arnold, he was trying to escape!» the first man started to say, but the second laughed.

«Oddest Attempt I've ever seen. What does that Paper say?»

«I don't know.»

A big sigh. «Just… watch him. _Don't_ shoot him, _versteht?_» But he didn't wait for an answer before cautiously approaching Jim. He kept well out of the line of fire, which Brewster heartily approved of.

«Turn and face the Wall,» he instructed as he drew nearer.

Brewster nodded and complied, but he also stepped closer to the building.. Carefully, he sank to his knees, then leaned forward until his weight was supported by his left hand. He held his right hand, with the note, above his head. It was an awkward position, one from which he would be unable to defend himself or attack.

It earned him a chuckle from the guard. «You _have_ done this before, I see,» he commented, so softly that only Jim could hear him.

«It's been over four Weeks, _Gefreiter_. I've had a lot of Practice.» Jim's reply was just as quiet.

«Hmm,» was the noncommittal response. Still, he was careful as he plucked the paper from the prisoner's unresisting fingers. There was a pause as he read it, then he stepped back and ordered the _Amerikaner_ to stand. «Short of disturbing the _Hauptmann_, we have no way to prove that this is Genuine. However, I believe that we must proceed as if it is. So…»

«I have my Manacles, and their Key, _Gefreiter_. Right breast pocket of my Tunic.» Brewster stood patiently still, his hands still on the wall in front of him, supporting his weight.

«No, I think not. You will walk in front of me—_well_ in front. You may keep your Hands down.» He stepped well back from the commando and made sure that his fellow guard had his rifle down. Willi was too excitable sometimes, and he did _not_ want any accidents. «Go.»

«Glad to. Which way?» Jim asked, laughter in his voice.

«Ahh. So _that_ is why you wished an Escort.»

«That, and I didn't care to be shot. Still, I _do_ need to get back; he's got an early Appointment. And _I_ don't want to be the one to have made him late.»

«Neither do I. This way, _Amerikaner_.» He pointed with his Schmeisser; Jimmy went.

The kitchen for the officers' mess was a controlled madhouse. The head cook glared at this… The insult he'd been mentally forming shriveled and died. This was a dangerous man, who stood so docilely before him. «What do you want?»

«Breakfast Ingredients for three. The Girl they got for my _Hauptmann_ can cook, she says.» _There,_ thought Jimmy with a snicker. _That_ _should help the rumor mill._ «Eggs for two; Oatmeal. Some Sausage if available. Bread; Cheese; some Jam, perhaps. I have no idea what you have. Coffee? My _Hauptmann _would like that, I think. Or Tea if there's nothing else.»

«And how much of that do _you_ get, eh?» one of the cook's helpers sneered.

Jimmy just looked at him. «Me? The Oatmeal, definitely; Bread and Cheese. _Maybe_ some sausage or other Meat. It all depends on his Mood. I won't starve, though.»

The head cook looked him over again. No; this one wouldn't starve. He had irritated skin on his wrists; from handcuffs, no doubt, but no signs of abuse. He might be favored, but he would have had to earn it. And he was hard, in good condition. Slowly he nodded, then spun about and started to give orders.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He tapped on the door. «Anna. Come on, Girl; get up.» Still no answer, and then he cursed softly. The only sound she would hear at her door would be guaranteed to wake Dekker, and Jimmy was trying to let him sleep as long as possible. He hated to do it, but he had no choice. Cautiously, he opened the door and slipped inside.

She had been so frightened of him that he didn't want to actually touch her, so he shook the bed. Her eyes jerked open, and she nearly screamed, but she saw his finger up by his mouth, signalling silence. He smiled at her then and backed up even farther.

«I've got the Stuff for Breakfast. You'd best get a move on; we don't want Dekker to be late.» Then he turned and left her in peace.

He had work to do now; Dekker's orderly was back at headquarters, so it fell to him to ready the German's uniform. He was polishing the boots when Dekker padded out to the kitchen in his stocking feet, drawn by the smell of coffee brewing and sausage frying.

«You did very well, I see,» the _Hauptmann _said as he inspected the table, laid for two. A third place was set over at the side on a counter. Fresh bread was on a plate, already sliced; a small pot of jam and a chunk each of butter and cheese awaited. Anna was busy at the stove and jumped with a startled gasp when she turned and saw Dekker there. He just smiled as gently as he could, thinking that she was more nervous than Schatze had been when he'd first gotten her. But he ignored her to turn back to his Rottweiler. «Did you have any Problems?» he asked.

«Not insurmountable ones. Didn't get shot or locked up, anyway.» He'd been wondering if this was all some sort of test, and, if so, if he had passed. But Dekker was looking somewhat embarrassed.

«I wasn't thinking clearly last Night. I should not have sent you out like that. I could have gotten you killed; I do not wish that to happen. You will stay in this Apartment unless someone takes you out, from now on.»

«Yes, _Herr Hauptmann_.» An apology?! But the boots were done, and breakfast was ready; it was getting late. Putting all else aside, Jim helped Anna serve and moved to sit at the counter.

She was flustered now. She was lower than dirt; they had taught her that in the camp. She had… _volunteered_ wasn't quite the correct term… when Rachel had asked if she would come. But she had come, hoping for at least a little better life. Better food, better treatment. She had not hoped so high as _this._

Dekker had her sit at the table. He knew better than to load her stomach up too much; she had been on a poor diet far too long by the looks of her. Some thinned oatmeal, a slice of bread, a bit of cheese… He paused. «Will you eat the Sausage? It is most likely Pork, or has some in it,» he said, careful to keep his voice gentle. «You do not have to, if you do not wish it.»

She looked at him in shock, fighting terror now.

«Hush, Girl. I will not hurt you just because you are a Jüdin. I have another, back with my Men. He does his Work well, and so he is treated no different than my other Hounds.

«Do you wish the Sausage?»

He was right; it probably _was_ Pork. She shouldn't even be _cooking_ it for him… unclean… but it had been so long since she'd had much Meat of any kind. «I…» She felt so torn.

«No, then. I know you can eat the Eggs. We will try to get a little Beef, or some Chicken.» And he stopped in amazement, watching as she burst into tears. He looked at his _Amerikaner _in near panic.

Jimmy motioned putting his arms around her and nodded to Dekker.

He hesitated, then did as suggested. She let him hold her while she cried, then drew back, sniffling. And Dekker understood. No one, at least no German soldier, had shown her any kindness or consideration in far too long.

He cleared his throat. «Yes, well… Eat your Breakfast, _Fräulein_. Jimmy, here.» He pushed the plate of sausage at his… just how _did_ he think of Jimmy, anyway? He paused again, then shook his head slightly. He divided the eggs, giving Anna some, but not too much, for it might be too rich. Again, Jimmy got the rest. Then he settled down to eat his own. He nodded his thanks when his Hound rose and poured fresh, _real_ coffee into his cup, and nodded his permission at Jimmy's raised eyebrow.

«_Fräulein? Kaffe?_» Jimmy asked, keeping his tone gentle.

She looked up, her eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, then shook her head. He nodded his acknowledgment to her, then looked back at Dekker. «_Herr Hauptmann_? May I?» Yeah, it hurt to ask, but good manners were never out of date. He poured for himself at the German's go-ahead. He was going to get spoiled here.

A flurry of activity, then Dekker was gone to his appointment, leaving Jimmy behind to guard the girl. And that was something else to think about, Dekker realized in dismay.

But first, he had this physical to survive, and Dr. Weiss.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They left him in the outer office for a good twenty minutes, even though he'd been early. There was no one there but a receptionist/aide, so Dekker knew that this was done deliberately to try to rattle him. He snickered to himself; he'd waited for Russkies to ambush them; this doctor had nothing on them. Finally, though, the buzzer on the aide's desk sounded; she picked up the phone, listened, then turned a dazzling smile on the handsome young _Hauptmann_. «_Herr Oberst Doktor_ Weiss will see you now, _Herr Hauptmann_,» she told him in a soft, throaty voice.

Dekker looked at her, his eyes cold. It would take more than an inviting voice and a pair of bedroom eyes to distract _him._ He picked up his cap from his knee, settled it on his head, straightened his tunic, and went to face this new foe.

Weiss, Dekker found, was a tall, cadaverous man with receding dark hair, and eyes as pale and cold as his own. He looked up as Dekker entered and came to attention before him; Dekker could have sworn that he saw a hint of a wry smile as he saluted the man. The _Herr Doktor_ looked back down at the file open on the desk before him, ignoring Dekker for several breaths longer, then he pushed himself back into his chair and transferred his studious gaze to Dekker himself.

Dekker studied him just as closely. Something about the man niggled at the back of his mind, but he couldn't place the thought. Mentally he shrugged; he must have seen him somewhere, long ago. That wasn't important now. He waited. He was not invited to sit; this surprised him slightly.

Finally, Weiss gave a frosty grin. «Tell me, _Hauptmann_ Dekker, do you still have the Nightmares? Is the Dog still working?»

He stiffened in alarm that he couldn't mask. Surely _that_ wasn't a part of his record!

«Gently, _Herr Hauptmann_; only three People besides myself know about that—and about the Cause. Your 'good Friend' Lasch is not one of them. So.

_«Is_ the Dog still working for you, to control the Nightmares?»

He felt like a rebellious boy under his tutor's eye, then remembered that the doctor was a colonel, and he a mere captain. He took a deep breath before reluctantly answering, «Not really, _Herr Oberst_.»

Weiss studied him again for long minutes before speaking. _«If_ I were your Enemy, Dekker, this Physical would not have been delayed for nearly a Month. And I doubt you would have passed it then. Now, I have no Doubts at all that you are sound of… Body, yes. _Mind,_ you have gotten very good at masking. Lasch is still powerful, but he has been making… Errors of Judgment lately, and losing Friends willing to protect him still. _You_ are still vulnerable; you have been too successful, despite his best Efforts. But this is no Surprise to you; I see you understand what I am talking about only too well. _Gut_.

«We will commence your Physical tomorrow Morning. You will come in fasting. Nothing after a late Dinner tonight, _versteht'_?»

«_Zu Befehl, Herr Doktor_.»

«You are free for the Rest of the Day; I recommend that you do not exert yourself _too_ much Tonight. You will need that Energy Tomorrow. Dismissed.»

Dekker saluted and turned to leave, pausing at the door when his name was called.

«Johann… You have done well.» And then he was out.

He got all the way out of the base hospital before stopping, and then the tremors hit. _Oh, __Gott im Himmel_,_ but that was too close! _He paused a moment longer to get himself back under control, then started back towards his quarters.

«_Herr Hauptmann, eine Moment, bitte_.» The call was an order, not a request; Dekker stopped to see what was required. He sighed when he recognized the major in charge of base security.

«_Herr Major_, how can I assist you?» Dekker managed to inquire politely, although he suspected that he knew what the problem was.

«I am informed that your… 'Hound'… slipped his Leash this Morning and was wandering around the Base. I _hope_ that you have managed to kennel him again?» The tone was icy, and Dekker didn't really blame the major.

«I am sorry for the… Misunderstanding, _Herr Major_. He _was_ out this Morning, but I am afraid that he did not escape me. I had given him Orders last Night to go where he did this Morning. I apologize; I was not thinking. Back with my Unit, I frequently send him on non-sensitive Errands. It will not happen again; he will not be out again unless I am with him. It will just make exercising him a bit awkward.

«Again, I apologize, Sir.»

«Exercising him?»

«Yes, Sir. He usually runs with my Men each Morning. So does the Rest of my 'Pack'; just not at the same Time as Jimmy. It is more prudent that Way.»

Now the major looked thoughtful. Suddenly, he grinned. «You are so confident that he will not try to escape, _Hauptmann_?»

«He will not. I have his Men, you see. He will do nearly anything to keep them safe. So he will not escape, and he will not sabotage anything. Besides, they are all _Amerikaner_; there is nowhere for them to go. And I have had him tattooed.»

«Really? I did not see… No Matter.» Again the major chuckled. «I will send Someone by for him. We will see that he is 'exercised' adequately for you.»

«I do not wish him hurt needlessly.»

The major paused once more to study Dekker more closely. «I see. Very well; we will just give him a reasonably good Workout. Does he speak German?»

«With a _Bavarischer_ Accent. He is _not_ your normal POW, _Herr Major_. Have you ever worked with a Rottweiler, Sir? They are good Dogs, intelligent, easy to work with. Loyal and willing. But if they are abused, it is a different Matter altogether. There is a very good Reason that my Men call him my Rottweiler. I… prefer… his Temperament the way it is, if you understand me.»

«You will show this 'Hound' of yours to me.»

«Very well, Herr Major. Do you wish me to bring him to your Office?» Dekker was beyond worry. All he wanted to do right then was to collapse with a beer in a darkened room… but he had no beer.

«No. We will go and see him now.»

«As you wish. We will find him in my Quarters, guarding my current… Companion. This way, _Herr Major_.» Dekker turned without waiting for further comment and led the way, the dumbfounded major following.

The _prisoner_ was _guarding_ someone? Incredible.

It was worse than that. On the major's instructions, Dekker opened the door and just stepped back, allowing the door to swing in and the major to enter first. The companion, a female inmate from the camp next door, was doing hand-wash in the kitchen sink. She seemed not to hear them enter, for she continued her work without pause.

The _Amerikaner,_ though… He had been ironing one of Dekker's uniform shirts. Now he was motionless, and _not_ from fear. It was all the major could do to keep himself from reaching for his pistol, for the former _Kommando_ had moved to place himself between this unknown intruder and the woman, and he did not relax his stance until Dekker himself came through the door. _Then_ he dove for the iron, snatching it from the shirt with a curse. Fortunately, there had not been time for the blouse to scorch. He paid the major little mind then; obviously, since Dekker was here, he was allowed to be also.

«_Mein Gott_,» the major breathed.

Dekker ignored him for the moment. «Jimmy, some Security Guards will be coming by to let you get your Run in Today. Don't break them, _versteht_?»

And the _Kommando_ grinned. «I won't break them, _Herr Hauptmann_. You'll be out this Afternoon, then? Do you think Someone can find me a Deck of Cards or something? I'd like to stay out of Trouble.»

«Something can probably be arranged.» Dekker's eyes had actually thawed somewhat, to Jim's amazement. They hardened again, though, when he turned to face the major. «As I told you, _Herr Major_, he is here, and he _will_ be here unless I send him Somewhere, or give him Leave. It would take more than one Man to remove him from these Quarters if he did not have Leave to go.»

«I can see that. But you said that he was tattooed. Where?»

The Major watched the _Amerikaner_ stiffen again, and something hot flashed through his eyes. But when Dekker softly spoke his name, he began to unbutton his shirt without any comment, pulling it off and laying it carefully aside. The tags on his collar clinked softly as he pulled his undershirt off over his head; then he stood quietly before the German major.

The man was smart enough to make no attempt to touch him; he didn't even circle around the prisoner, as some liked to do. He just quietly studied the two rows of numbers, then looked at Dekker again. «The first row of Numbers looks like one of our Identity Numbers, _Hauptmann._»

«It is _my_ Number, _Herr Major_,» Dekker acknowledged, trying to keep his voice controlled. «The other is Jimmy's… _Unterfeldwebel_ Brewster's… Service Number. He does not have a _Gefangenernummer_, nor will he have one. He is not registered with the Swiss. I have already informed your Office of this and of the Fact that he is mine.»

«And the Tags he wears?» The _Major_ watched the _Amerikaner_ very carefully now, for he was tight-muscled in response to the aggression evident in Dekker's voice. He was ready to attack, never mind that he was unarmed and in the middle of an enemy camp. If Dekker gave the slightest word…

«One is his Identity Disk—the _Amerikaner_ call them 'Dog Tags.' The Collar is his idea of a Joke. It cannot be removed, save by cutting it off,» Dekker admitted, and his voice relaxed a bit now. «The other… is a Tag that he and his Men convinced some of their Guards to have made for them.»

The major looked at Dekker incredulously, then started to reach for the tags to read the second. He paused, not quite touching it as a wolfish grin crossed the prisoner's face.

«It says, _Herr Major_: 'Jimmy. Property of Johann Dekker,' with his Serial Number. 'If found, please return me to him.' We all have them. A Badge of Honor.» There was a challenge in his eyes that the major found himself reluctant to accept.

He looked back at Dekker. «Do you at least chain him at Night?»

«Not anymore; not for several Weeks now, nearly. There is no Need, and he is of more use to me loose like this. We are closer to the Russians where we are. I can sleep at Night without having to worry about Partisans or Assassins. He sleeps at the Foot of my Bed, you see.»

Now the major shook his head. «_You,_ _Herr Hauptmann_, are _too_ used to living dangerously.» He paused, looking over the young captain again, taking in the wound badges, the Poland _Blitz_, _two_ Service Awards for Russia…

«There has not been Time to obtain my _third_ Russian Badge, _Herr Major_,» Dekker's voice dryly interrupted his musing. «We've only been back a Month now, from our third Tour of Duty there. Any more Questions, Sir? If not, I've some Errands that need running, as you do not wish to have my Hound fetching Provisions every Morning. These Quarters are furnished, but there is no Food here, and my… Retainers must be fed.»

«He will leave the Girl here all alone?»

«I am taking her with me, for the Shopping, since _she_ is doing the Cooking. Jimmy will go with whomever you send, for his Run. And, _Herr Major_, they had best be in _very_ good Shape, or he will make them look like weak Fools. _My_ Troops, you see, are all Combat Veterans and are used to Ground Actions despite being a Panzer Battalion.

«But, if there is nothing else, Sir…?»

«No; that appears to be all. Someone will be by for him within the Hour; he will be returned here afterwards, whether you are here or not. I assume that you do not wish him chained if you are not here.»

«No. He will stay, so that, should there be a Fire or Air Raid, he will be able to save himself. I will _not_ have him left helpless here.»

Now the major nodded, understanding the reasoning at last. He didn't agree; there would be sentries on this building, but he could understand.

He still had well over half the morning, and the woman, Anna, would need a lot to make her presentable for this evening. She stood tensely, watching, trying to judge his temper, and had been so ever since she'd realized that someone was in the apartment besides Jimmy.

Now Dekker tried to find a gentle smile for her. No doubt, he thought, it would look like a snarl, for he'd had little practice trying to soothe a woman. Still, she seemed to relax. «Do you have any better Clothes than that?» he asked, nodding in her direction.

As quickly as that, she began to panic, not wishing to be sent back yet.

He had been under too much stress this morning, and so he snapped at her. «Stop that, woman! Yes or no would be enough.»

Before his shocked eyes, she crumbled to the floor at his feet, clasping his knees and crying.

Brewster sighed and bent down to carefully disengage Anna's hands. He looked up at Dekker and shook his head. «She's been taught to be terrified of Officers, _Herr Hauptmann_; the higher their Rank, the worse they are. That _Major_ scared her to Death, the way he 'picked on' me. Now she thinks you're mad at her because these are the only Clothes she has. They've taught her that to survive, she has to be absolutely pleasing in everything, _Herr Hauptmann_, whether she could reasonably be expected to control it or not. Someone _angry_ with her is practically a Death Sentence, I'd say. And you sounded angry by _anyone's_ Definition.»

«_Scheiße_. Calm her down and get her to wash her Face and stop crying. I begin to think you should be coming, too, to keep her calm, if nothing else. Or _I_ won't survive this Morning.» Dekker sounded disgusted, but Jimmy suspected that he was disgusted with himself for losing his temper with Anna.

«We _could_ cancel my Run for Today, Sir. I've not been running that long now; I daresay that it won't kill me.»

«No. It does not take you that long; we will go after you wash up. _I_ am going to lie down until then; see if she will make me some _Kaffe_.»

«_Jawohl, mein Hauptmann_,» Jimmy said, and there was no mockery in his voice.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker had gotten his coffee and was lying down when the knock sounded on the door. Anna looked near panic again, so Jimmy just sighed and went to answer it. Two hard young soldiers stood there, dressed in exercise clothing. Jim grinned at their shocked looks. «Be right with you,» he told them as he stepped back from the door and began to remove his uniform blouse as he moved down the inner hallway to the bathroom. When he re-emerged, he was in lightweight trousers and running shoes much like those of his escorts. He grinned again at their appraising looks. «I'm Brewster, but my _Hauptmann_ just calls me 'Jimmy'. I suppose you can, too, since it's not as unwieldy as '_Unterfeldwebel_.' Shall we go, Gentlemen?» He stepped out into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind himself.

The darker of the two shook himself mentally. «How far are you to go?» He tried to keep his distaste for this prisoner out of his voice, but he knew he'd not succeeded. Bad enough that they'd be shorted on their PT; he hadn't wanted to anger this Panzer captain any more this morning.

But the _Gefangener_ just grinned at him. «I can go as far as you can; don't cut your Run short on my Behalf.»

The pale one, much younger than his comrade, barely kept his temper. «We will run you into the Ground, _Schwein_. _We_ are _Fallschirmjäger_.» His pride was clearly to be heard in his voice as he boasted to this captive worm.

«_Paratroopers_, huh? Well, at least you'll be able to keep up.» Jim knew that he was pushing his luck, but he couldn't help himself. «We'd best be off; my _Hauptmann_ wants to go into Town once I get back. It's not a good Idea to keep him waiting. _He_ was _Waffen_-SS.»

It was enlightening, Jim saw. The pale one sneered at his words, but the other looked him over again and nodded thoughtfully. «_Komm_, then. Twenty Kilometers should be a good Run. We will lose Faulkner at fifteen, I'm afraid.» He laughed at the pale one's embarrassed flush and ushered Brewster down the stairs ahead of himself. «I am _Unterfeldwebel_ Schmidt. Only _Oberst_ Steiner himself can outlast me. And Faulkner knows it.» He fell silent as they left the building, Schmidt now in the lead, and picked up the pace as they headed for the base perimeter for a good hard workout.

They drew looks, that was for certain. And Schmidt had it right; Faulkner fell back after about fifteen kilometers. So Brewster and Schmidt ran side by side to finish their workout in companionable silence. In fact, neither spoke again until they were nearly done with their cool-down.

«You were not Aircrew,» Schmidt said, certainty in his words.

«No. _Kommando_. American-born, not British.» Jim looked over to see the German nodding in satisfaction. «You taking me out Tomorrow also?»

«Most likely. How long will your _Hauptmann_ be here?» Schmidt looked at the _Kommando _out of the corner of his eye.

«I have no Idea. You'll know we're gone when I'm not here for my morning Run, I'd guess. Dekker doesn't tell me Stuff like that in advance; he just says 'We're going.'» Jim grinned to soften that statement; no one would get any intelligence out of _him._

«Ah, well. I will see about taking you out at least as long as _we_ are here. And _I_ do not know that, either.» Schmidt looked to see what sort of reaction that statement drew.

Brewster just grinned again. «That's us: Brother Mushrooms. They keep us in the Dark and feed us lots of Bull.»

«You will go back to _Amerika_ after the War?»

Jim was silent a long time, his lips tightened. Finally, «No. I'm thinking that Dekker's going to try to keep all of us—my Men and me. If not, he'd probably just shoot us all. We've no other Options.

«I gotta get cleaned up. Thanks for the Run, _Unterfeldwebel_. See you Tomorrow.» And he was gone, back into the building and to whatever awaited him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker was surprised to find that he was not impatient as he waited for Jimmy to return. He _was_ somewhat concerned, not knowing how someone else's men would treat his _Kommando,_ but he knew that Jimmy would give as good as he got. He would see when his Rottweiler returned. For now, though, it was good just to stretch out and relax. It was peaceful here, quiet. He could hear Anna puttering about in the outer room; he wondered what she was finding to do out there. It pleased him that she wasn't even trying to escape him.

He knew that she could have, quite easily, for he had slept for at least an hour, if not longer.

Brewster should be back soon now.

Some time later, he heard the outer door open, and footsteps came towards the bedroom. Old habit had his Mauser pistol in his hand, ready for anything.

«_Herr Hauptmann_?» Jimmy's voice, and still well away from his bedroom. «_Herr Hauptmann_, I'll get cleaned up now.»

Then Dekker heard him walking towards the bath. He sighed, for now _he_ had to get up.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Everyone was quiet during the drive into town. He parked the _Kubelwagen_ under an old spreading tree in front of one row of shops and waited for Jim to come around and get Anna out for him. To his surprise, there seemed to be many people out on the street, both civilian and military, and every military eye snapped to lock onto Jimmy. Dekker could tell that the _Kommando_ was aware of it; he could see the tension in those muscles.

But Jimmy ignored them, giving Anna a hand out of the _'Wagen._ «Don't worry about them,» he said to her softly. «Just walk _next_ to him as if you belong there. _I_ walk behind him, like a well trained Dog. Just keep calm if anyone comes over to us; he'll protect you so long as you don't embarrass him. And _I'll_ protect both of you. Go on, now.» He eased her over to the waiting German, who offered her his left arm, placing his right hand over the fingers that she hesitantly laid there. He tried an encouraging smile, then headed them towards the shops.

_Oberleutnant_ Müller's Rachel had given him recommendations and directions to shops that not only had what she would need, but would deal decently with her, and so it proved. Many things were secondhand, but it was a good way to stretch his funds. He had not, after all, expected the costs of outfitting a mistress, or whatever she would prove to be. Personal cook, maybe, for, to his surprise, Dekker found that he really had no desire to take her to his bed. She reminded him too much of one that he'd had to shoot a year or so earlier, after he'd caught her rifling through some of his papers.

They found two skirts that fit her, and three blouses, all good enough for everyday work. A fourth blouse and a light jacket would cover her needs for shopping or semi-good wear.

The next shop provided those intimate items a woman needed for undergarments. Dekker waited with Jimmy at the door to that shop, leaving Anna to deal with the shop-girl herself. The help at these places were quite used to dealing with women and girls taken from that camp, so there were no problems.

Shoes were another matter. Everyday footwear was not cheap, and Dekker found himself close to losing his temper with that shopkeeper, who didn't really want to have anything to do with the young Jewess. Dekker finally stormed out of there in a huff, trailed by Anna, who was nearly in tears. Dekker's comments on that place, and its proprietor, should not have been uttered in a lady's presence.

Jimmy had to laugh despite himself. «Softly, _mein Hauptmann_. There will probably be another Cobbler somewhere in this Town. Besides, he seemed to be a bit expensive, compared to some of the other Places we've seen.» He was starting to get concerned, for Dekker was starting to attract even more attention, and, Jim knew, that could be very bad. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck rising when a young colonel started in their direction.

«Is there a Problem, _Hauptmann_?» the man asked casually, but Jimmy had alarm bells going off in his head.

Dekker paused in mid-curse and looked at the man, and swallowed what he'd almost snapped at a stranger. «I… apologize for my unseemly Display, _Herr Oberst_. There _is_ a Problem, but I am overreacting badly, as my Man here was trying to point out to me. Forgive me, please.» He hated apologizing to anyone, but his tantrum had been uncalled for.

To his surprise, the colonel chuckled. «That old Bigot would send a Saint to Hell. The Girl, she _is_ _Jüdische_, yes? He would cut off his Arm before dealing fairly with a _Jüdin_. You should go…»

And so Dekker was given a new set of directions, which took them to a very run-down-looking shop. Inside, though, the cobbler hurried to wait on them. His wares were well made, his prices fair, and there were second-hand shoes that only needed a little work to ready them for Anna.

They waited for the shoes, Dekker prowling quietly around the outer room of the shop. The man's boots were beautifully done, the leather gleaming gently, polished to a perfect glow. He needed new boots; his were barely acceptable now, but boots were expensive. Still, there was no telling where they'd be sent next—probably back to Russia, he thought morosely. And the boots he had now would never stand up to that again. With a sigh, he settled into a chair beside his Hound, staring at his feet.

«Problems, _Herr Hauptmann_?» Jim was careful to keep his voice down, not wanting to attract any more attention.

Slowly, the German looked over at him, frowning more. «What Shape are your Boots in, Jimmy? And the rest of _meine Hünde_? Are their Boots sound? We may be going back East; that's…»

«…the Way the War's been for you. Yeah, I know, Sir,» Jim sighed in his own turn. It was more than likely, since there was so little fighting left. There was still some in North Africa, but that was Rommel's command; Brewster had heard that the field marshal had little tolerance for the SS. So, East it would be. «I think the Guys' Boots are okay; I seem to remember them boasting that they got lucky and made the new Issue. I missed it; I was too busy covering Markham's Ass and arranging Billeting for the Men.

«I've got a Hole starting in the left Sole, and the right one is starting to separate. At least my Running Shoes are still good.»

«You cannot wear those on Campaign, and you know that as well as I,» Dekker snarled, but kept his voice down. Then he couldn't help himself; he started to chuckle. «I never realized how expensive it could be, keeping Pets.» He watched the _Amerikaner_ out of the corner of his eye, wondering how he would take that, then relaxed muscles he hadn't even realized were tight when Jimmy laughed.

«Just wait until it's time for our Shots, _Herr Hauptmann_; you'll have a hard Time trying to find a Vet for us.»

«Just so long as you do not bite the nice _Doktor_,» Dekker was surprised to find himself joking with his _Kommando,_ the tension draining out of him. He would just have to find the funds. And they would need clothing also. He scowled again, then sighed. No, it would not be worth the trouble to notify the Swiss. They would be horrified over the tattoos, to say nothing of the collars. He would just have to manage. So thinking, he relaxed and waited.

Anna's shoes were quickly done, and the cobbler also re-soled the ones she'd been wearing, making them as good as new. So she, at least, was set. Dekker was measured for boots and was pleasantly surprised that they cost less than he'd feared. It helped that the cobbler gave him a bit of a discount, since he'd made multiple purchases. New boots for Brewster gave him pause momentarily; then the old cobbler grinned. «If you would permit me to make a Call on your Behalf, _Herr Hauptmann_, I can perhaps get the proper Boots from the Authorities for you. What size?»

Dekker shook his head. «I cannot go to the Swiss. They do not know that I have him.»

«And they will not. I have found a Friend there; he is more concerned with getting Supplies where they are needed than with Paperwork. You wish what? Flight Boots?»

«Jump Boots, good Sir. Size ten wide, _Englisch_.» Jim kept his voice soft, hoping that Dekker wouldn't get mad at him for speaking up.

The cobbler's eyes widened in surprise. «Jump Boots?! You are _Kommando_?!»

«_Ich bin Kettenhund meines Hauptmannes_,» Jim told him—_my captain's Watch-dog—_wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

«He is my Rottweiler,» Dekker corrected with a grin that actually reached his eyes. He was curious to see what this civilian would make of that, but the man nodded knowingly.

«They are good Dogs. Very loyal to their Masters, but a one-man Dog, I have heard. Good Military Dogs, fierce and brave. You are a lucky Man, _Herr Hauptmann_. The Girl, she is for him?»

«No. She is to cook for me and my _Offizieren_.» Dekker wished this conversation ended before Jimmy took offense.

Apparently the cobbler sensed this. «I had wondered… I will see if I can get proper Boots, then. Excuse me.» He went back into his office to make the call, glad to be away from the scene of his _faux pas._ «Günter, this is Hermann… _Ja, alles ist gut_… I need a Favor. I need a Pair of Boots for a Prisoner… No, don't bother looking in your Records; you won't find him. I don't even know his Name. He's here with a Panzer Captain; he has a Jewess with him also—bought Shoes for the Girl, so I think he means well by her… As you say. But the Boots?... _Ja_, but _Englisch_, size ten wide, he said. Jump Boots… _Nein_. The _Hauptmann_ called him his Rottweiler, and the Prisoner did not seem to mind… _Was_?... Oh, some Grade of Sergeant, I believe. Very tough-looking, competent… _Nein_. He means well by him, too, I think… No, I don't think a Rescue would be wise. He is unrestrained and seems comfortable with the _Hauptmann_. But the Boots?... You can? _Sehr gut,_ Günter… In two Days? _Wunderbar! Danke schön_. I will tell him.» He hung up the phone and turned, stopping just short of Brewster.

«No, _mein Herr_, a Rescue would _not_ be advisable,» Jim growled, his voice soft. «Lucky for you I'm not a Mole, not Gestapo or the Like.»

«Please understand,» the man sighed. «Most are not well treated, even when they do not resist. I do not know your Circumstances, but it appears that you are one of the Fortunate Ones. He is good to you; I make no Judgment here.

«But to Business. The Swiss still do not really know about you, and your Boots should be here in two Days. You will tell your Captain, yes? And I will have his Boots ready then also. He can either have them picked up, or I can deliver them. He is staying at the Base?»

«You can ask him.» Jim backed out of the man's way, allowing him to go to Dekker. He listened, wondering what game this man was playing.

«I am sure that he will tell you all, _Herr Hauptmann_, but perhaps I should explain,» the cobbler began somewhat nervously. «I do not know your Politics in this, but… Understand, I am a loyal German. I am _not,_ and never have been, a _Nazi_. I do not like to see People tortured or suffering needlessly. Yes, I understand that People get hurt and die during a War…»

«What he's saying, _Herr Hauptmann_, is that he advised against an offered Rescue Attempt for me,» Brewster cut in. «I think he might have been Resistance when Hitler was in Power. Now, he probably behaves himself and doesn't interfere with the War Effort.»

Dekker shrugged. «I understand that many felt that way. This is not my Jurisdiction, and so not my Problem. No Doubt you frightened him sufficiently that he will be more careful in the Future.» To the cobbler he said, «You will have the Boots delivered. Call, and Jimmy will meet the Delivery Boy at the Gate. Here is the Number for my Building.» Dekker watched as that tidbit of information was digested, then rose and stretched. «Come, _Hund_. It is Time to eat. And you, _Fräulein_ Anna. I know you must be hungry also. We will go.» So saying, he escorted his future cook out of the shop, followed by his Rottweiler.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lunch was… interesting. Dekker found a nice little restaurant on a quiet side street. There were people eating there, but it wasn't that crowded. It was late, he knew; no doubt that explained why there were empty tables. A hostess met them at the door… and the difficulties began.

Oh, they had no problems over Anna. Apparently there were enough _Offiziere_ bringing in _Jüdische_ mistresses that it was almost acceptable. No; it was Brewster they objected to.

«What, you think he has no Manners? You think he will rise up and kill your Customers?» Dekker raged.

Brewster tried to calm him. «Gently, _mein Hauptmann_; it doesn't matter. I can wait Outside for you, or something.»

«So some Idiot can say you were escaping and shoot you? I think _not.»_

He was loud enough that the manager showed up to try to soothe the ruffled feathers. Eventually, Jimmy was settled in one corner of the kitchen to eat, although the manager refused all responsibility in case of an escape attempt. Dekker snorted in disgust at that, but let it go so they could all finally eat.

The food was good, and the portions were reasonable. He made sure that Jimmy was given some meat, although the piece was smaller than he and Anna were served. That didn't matter; he could make up the difference later. It was just the principle of the thing.

Then they needed to find a nice evening dress for Anna. They strolled down the streets of the town, looking into the mostly empty shop windows—those that weren't boarded up. It was very clear that this was wartime; hardship was apparent everywhere. Several times, groups of youths came out, planning on attacking the prisoner, but a good look at Dekker made them change their minds.

Finally, they came to a consignment shop of the better sort. Taking a deep breath, Dekker drew Anna inside, prepared to do battle. Brewster went in only as far as the door and watched as a small, mousey-looking girl warily approached the _Hauptmann._ «H-How can I help you, _Herr Hauptmann_?» she asked, clearly wishing to be anywhere but there. It stopped Dekker in his tracks.

«My…» He found himself at a loss for words. Anna wasn't his mistress, for he wasn't sleeping with her. Nor could he call her his friend, because he hardly knew her. "Companion" didn't apply for similar reasons.

«Young Lady,» Jim suggested softly from beside the door. The German officer looked around at him, then nodded. Good enough.

«My young Lady needs a Dress for good Wear,» he managed to get out, trying not to notice said lady's blush. Then he paused, realizing that she'd _heard_ that, and it had not been said that loudly. Fortunately, no one but Jimmy noticed his pause or the reason for it.

The shop girl was looking at Anna appraisingly. «We-we have several that should be her Size, but they are for cooler Weather, _Herr Hauptmann_. They have long Sleeves…»

Twenty minutes later, they were exiting the shop, Jimmy carrying the carefully folded and wrapped dress. Long sleeves had been perfect, for they covered the tattoo that she carried on her forearm from the concentration camp. Others would still be wearing long sleeves also, since most could not afford to waste money on frivolities like dresses to go out in. Anna would not be that noticeable.

Now they only had to find food. There was still some bread left at the baker's, but the greengrocer was sold out. They had to settle for some canned goods, although the choice was limited and the price high. They almost passed up going to the butcher; a bit of stew meat, its origin questionable, was the best that they could do, that and a little bacon for the next morning. Jimmy would have to scrounge eggs and coffee from the mess hall again, once Dekker was done with his physical. Cheese, fortunately, was readily available, as were dried beans and peas. Limited choices, again, but they would not starve. And so they finally headed back to the base.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker was quietly fuming when they got back that night. Dinner had gone well, but they'd run into a wall of prejudice when they'd gone for music and dancing. Another unit had been pulled in for R&R, and Dekker and Müller had barely avoided a fight with several of those officers. The locals at the club had sided with Dekker that women of whatever "race" should be treated gently; the other soldiers felt that anything could be done and would not have respected the fact that the two Jewesses were with escorts. MPs had arrived in time, but Dekker had only just barely avoided arrest. Anna had been scared out of her wits by the incident and clung to "her" _Offizier_ like a leech.

Jim was waiting up for them, for he knew that he'd have to help Dekker off with his boots. He took one look at the thundercloud that was the Panzer captain's face and went to put water on to boil for tea. Pity they had no more coffee.

«Dare I ask, _mein Hauptmann_?» Brewster finally said, just to break the silence.

Dekker looked at him for a moment, then began cursing in English and something else. _Russian? Did Dekker know Russian?_ Jim wondered.

Finally he ran down, then sat back with a sigh and accepted the cup of tea handed to him. "It iz a _gut_ thing you vere nott vith me. _You_ vould haf been in the thick ovf thingz, I think. Bigoted Azzholez.

Jim looked at him for several breaths, then broke out laughing. «Do you know how funny that sounds, coming from a former SS _Offizier, mein Hauptmann_? We'd always heard that 'SS' and 'Bigot' were synonymous.»

«SS, _ja_. Just not _Waffen_-SS. _We_ were different, remember?» Dekker was relaxing now as he sparred verbally with his _Amerikaner._ He _needed_ this man, and few others would realize it, so Jimmy should be safe. «Go; draw Water for Anna. Then I will go to Bed. A hot Bath in the Morning for me, Jimmy. You two will eat; I may not until I return. You will run with the _Fallschirmjägeren_ tomorrow Morning, then remain here with Anna. _Verstehen Sie_?»

«_Zu Befehl, mein Hauptmann_,» Jim replied, then started his assigned tasks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Two days of testing! Dekker couldn't believe how tired he was from it all. _Doktor_ Weiss was correct: He would not have passed this physical fresh from the Eastern Front. No one could have, but _they_ didn't have Lasch hanging over them like a sword of Damocles. He sighed and took another sip from the coffee he'd been relaxing over in the officer's club. They would be leaving after two more days, or so Weiss claimed when he cut Dekker loose for a short break. And he would be more than glad to go.

He looked up as rapid footsteps headed in his direction. «You have a Phone Call, _Herr Hauptmann_,» the young mess steward said quietly. «From an _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich. He said it was urgent and sounded flustered.»

This was not good; Kimmich did _not_ get flustered. «Where?» Dekker demanded, rising from his seat with no delay to follow the mess steward back to a small office. «_Hauptmann_ Dekker here; what's wrong?» he demanded, wasting no time in pleasantries.

«_Herr Hauptmann_, we have a Problem,» Kimmich announced, calming as he spoke. «They're dumping Fifty Men on us right now, sir, POWs. They've not even been to the Dulag; the Detail OIC claims that there is no Room for any more Prisoners there. The Orders are signed by _General_ Lasch. Many of these Men are sick or wounded. The Captain in charge of them says that there are Two Hundred more to come in three Days. _Where do I put them?»_

«So. Put them in the Barn for now; move my Hounds into the House. That Storeroom beyond the Kitchen will do for their Kennel. And have someone clean that small Bedroom beside the Kitchen; I am bringing back a Cook for us.

«You will have to assign some of our Troops as Guards around the Barn, I fear.»

«_Nein, Herr Hauptmann_. There is a Contingent of Guards here already; more are supposed to come with the Rest of the Prisoners.» The words were reassuring, but the tone of voice said something else.

«Still, assign some of our Men. You know this is a Trap as well as I do, Kimmich. I should be back in several more Days; do you have enough Food on Hand? Blankets? Does their Paperwork seem to be in Order?»

«Their Papers are in Order, _Herr Hauptmann_. We have enough Supplies for now, but we will fall short when the Rest get here.»

«I will see what I can do from this End. Be careful, _Oberleutnant_. And watch those new… 'Guards;' I smell Trouble there. Oh, and get me Clothing sizes for my Hounds; they will need Winter Wear. They are behaving themselves?»

«They are no Trouble, _Herr Hauptmann_. Even the new _Englisch Kommandos_ are working now, except for that Sergeant-Major. _He_ is Trouble; we keep him in Chains.»

«I will deal with him when I get back. There should be plenty of Straw in the Barn Loft; use that in the Stalls for the new Men, to stretch the Blankets. I will try to get us more.

«Anything else?»

«Just a Request for a Report from a _General_ Mannheim, IG's Office. I can't imagine what _he_ wants. It's not marked urgent.»

«I will deal with that on my Return also. Try to repair that second Barn, if at all possible. If it is too far gone, tear it down and use the Foundation for a new Building, salvaging as much of the Materials as possible. I fear that we will need all the Shelter-Space we can provide. This will not be the End of this Foolishness.»

«_Jawohl, mein Hauptmann_. It will be done.» From Kimmich, that was a first.

«Very well, then. _Ende_.» Dekker was scowling as he hung up the receiver. He maintained enough presence of mind to nod to the mess steward and give a brief "_Danke_," then he was out, looking for Weiss.

«_Herr Doktor_, is there some Way that we can cut this short? I need to get back to my Command as soon as possible. We are being turned into a Holding Area for POWs, and we are not set up for this Duty.»

Dekker watched Weiss scowl and mutter something under his breath, his cold blue eyes hooded and expressionless. «Do I guess who signed the Orders?» Weiss growled, then held up a hand to forestall an answer. «No Matter. What do you need?»

«Blankets and Supplies for two to three Hundred Men… if they don't multiply before they arrive at my Command three Days from now. We got fifty today, I am informed. Most are sick or wounded. I have Medical Personnel, but I could use some more Supplies. And I need to know where I can get Posts and Wire for Fencing, for a Containment Area. We both know that the Swiss will be along with no Warning. I have been given… 'Guards' for these Prisoners, so I know that I am being set up for charges of Atrocities. My Men are already scrambling to provide adequate Shelter. This, despite the Insult to us. We are a Combat Unit, not Jailers, _Herr Oberst_!» He could not prevent his agitation from showing. He only barely refrained from pacing.

Weiss watched him thoughtfully. «How large an Area will you need to fence in? I believe that I know where the Materials can be obtained, but Labor…» Weiss began thoughtfully.

«Labor is not a Problem, _Herr Oberst. Meine Hünde_ will do the Work, and my Troops. All we need are the Supplies. Food for them all, on what is basically no Notice… _that_ is a Problem.» Now Dekker stood still, watching Weiss, who grinned suddenly.

«I believe that will prove no Problem either, _Hauptmann_. There are decent Roads there?»

«Not good; merely passable. Just.» Now Dekker chuckled. «There is a Reason I came in a _Kubelwagen, Herr Doktor_, and it was not due to Lack of a Staff Car. I _had_ been considering using a Half-Track.»

«I see. Well, we will work around it. In light of this Development, I believe that we can release you back to Duty first thing in the Morning. Will that suit you, Dekker?»

«_Jawohl, Herr Oberst_. And thank you.»

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They had gotten back from their morning run to find the camp looking like a kicked-over ant-hill. A _Panzerschütze_, looking very upset,was waiting for them at the edge of camp to brief their escort-_Feldwebel_. Kevin McKeigh did his best to listen without being too obvious, but all he could catch clearly was "Kimmich" and "house." He shifted nervously; there were strange trucks in the farmyard, and a bunch of ugly-looking soldiers… No. Those weren't soldiers, Kevin realized; they looked more like surly prison-guards. _Very not good,_ he thought as he turned to the others. "We need to keep a low profile here, guys. So keep your heads down and your mouths shut."

"Hey, McKeigh, we do that anyway," Perelli groused. "No one wants to get slapped around." So saying, he moved quietly toward the farmhouse at the urging of their escort. Truth to tell, he was scared, for even _their_ Germans were unpredictable. Who knew _what_ they'd do with these strangers here.

So the small group of commandos was herded to the old farmhouse, even as they watched the first wounded POW being pushed out of a truck. Kimmich left the house steps, roaring in anger at this callous mistreatment, leaving Kevin to nod to himself. _Someone_ was trying to cause Dekker problems again, so it was up to them to help however they could. Brewster had said, rightly, that their only chance for survival would be to support their captor. So McKeigh took charge of his men and got them into the house and out of sight. After all, around here, it was 'out of sight, out of trouble'.

They cleared out the storeroom that was between the kitchen and the back door, scrubbing down floor and walls as directed. That was a harder job than cleaning up the small bedroom right beside the kitchen, but eventually both rooms would pass a white-glove inspection. He grinned at the memory, for they both had, and on the first attempt. Kimmich had looked at them and grinned.

«Very good Job, _Hünde_,» he said, high praise indeed from one who'd never had a good word for any of them. His grin slipped a bit then. «You will have to help feed and water the new ones, until we can ready Facilities for them. And it will look bad for _Hauptmann_ Dekker if any of them escape us. You will have to be careful among them; he will not want any of you to be hurt.»

McKeigh looked at Kimmich and grinned. "Not a problem, _Oberleutnant_. We won't turn any of 'em loose…" He paused at the slightly puzzled look on the German's face and sighed. «I apologize; I did not realize that your English was limited, _Herr Oberleutnant_. I said that you would not have to worry about us. What else would you have us do, so we keep out of Trouble?»

«There are Things to be moved into these Rooms,» Kimmich replied, wondering at himself for tolerating their apparent lack of respect, until he realized that this American _was_ being respectful; he just wasn't using the formal words. «Tell me, are the _Engländers_ reliable?»

«Our Opposites?» Kevin asked, then continued as if he'd been answered by more than a nod. «The Men, well… for KP or Stuff like that, yes, under light Guard. I mean, _they_ have a Home to go back to, so they're likely to try to get there. _Not_ the Sergeant-Major, though. He's a vicious, backstabbing Brute. Jimmy doesn't like _or_ trust him, so I wouldn't, either, Sir.»

«I thought not. Very well. You will move the Items as directed, then assist with the new Prisoners. First, though, you will give to _Gefreiter_ Jäger your Sizes, for Clothing and Boots. This is _Herr Hauptmann's_ Order.»

They moved a single bed with mattress into the small room; a dresser followed, along with a padded wooden chair and small table. A nice oil lamp was brought out of the attic of the house and set on the dresser. They wondered who was going to get that room, but held their questions. A small rag-rug on the floor finished the room off, along with real sheets for the bed.

Four bed frames were brought out of the supply trucks, camp-cot frames, actually, along with mattress tickings stuffed with straw from the barn, and two good blankets each. These were set along the side walls of the former storeroom, two to a side. Old, battered footlockers were brought in next, still smelling of various aftershaves from the former owners. These were placed at the foot of each bed, along with a fifth that sat beside the door to the hallway. A rolled-up pallet sat in lonely splendor atop that footlocker, three good blankets folded on top of all. The commandos exchanged speculative looks, but kept their questions to themselves.

Those questions were answered when guards brought their packs in from wherever they had been kept. Four were dumped in the middle of the floor, but the fifth was carefully placed beside the lone footlocker. _Yup,_ thought Kevin, _that's Jimmy's stuff. So _we_ sleep here, but he probably won't. Just his stuff will be here._ He grinned at the others. "Well, fellas, I'd say we're coming up in the world. We're house-pets now," he said, tongue firmly in cheek as he moved his pack to one of the cots.

"I'm not gonna complain," Davidson said, his voice serious. "Did you _see_ those goons that came in with the trucks? It ain't gonna be safe out there!"

"Yeah, well, we can't hide in here," Connolly pointed out. "We've gotta help take care of the 'livestock', too. I'll be glad when Dekker gets back here with Jimmy… Huh. Never thought I'd say _that."_

"You an' me both," agreed McKeigh. "But come on; we can put our stuff up later. We better go see what they want us to do next."

They spent the rest of that day, and all of the next, carrying water buckets and assisting the division's medical people as they worked on the new prisoners. The new guards that had come with them had to be watched at all times, or they would do small, spiteful things to make the prisoners miserable.

Finally, McKeigh had had enough and slammed one man against the wall. «See here, Asshole,» he snarled into the shocked face of the guard. «You'd better back off, or you'll find yourself in so much Shit, you'll never see Daylight again. You an' your _Buddies_ have been told; now _I'm_ telling you: _Hauptmann_ Dekker _isn't_ going to put up with this, and he won't put up with _you._ And I'll warn you now, he solves Problems with a Bullet to the Head. So lay off these Men. »

The man stared in shock a moment longer; then an ugly, mulish sneer crossed his face. «You will pay for that, _Schwein_,» he grated. «You are not so great as you think.»

«Wrong again, Bub,» McKeigh laughed at him. «I know exactly what I am: I'm one of Dekker's Hounds. Understand? I'm not a POW you can push around; I'm the Kommandant's personal Property. So you just try something, and see what happens.

«_Gefreiter_ Hinkes,» he called to a passing soldier, who looked over at the sound of his name and scowled darkly. «Could you get the _Oberleutnant_? This Jerk is abusing the Prisoners. _Again.»_

«Ja, I will get him for you, Kevin,» the _Gefreiter_ agreed, much to the surprise of McKeigh's victim. «He will _not_ be pleased, but _you_ are not the one who will feel his Displeasure. They have been told.»

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the wee hours of the morning, Dekker's _Kubelwagen_ pulled into the compound. Jimmy carried Anna into what would now be her room. _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich had been awakened when they'd passed the perimeter guards; he had met them as the _'Wagen_ glided to a halt and assured them that the room had been readied for the new cook. He clearly had not been expecting a young woman. Dekker made no attempt to explain; perhaps in the morning. Jimmy just gave Kimmich a hard look as he went past, meant as a clear warning. _She_ knew nothing of all this, sleeping deeply from exhaustion and nerves. She didn't even wake when he laid her down on the bed and drew a blanket up over her, having only removed her shoes.

«Where are my Hounds, _Oberleutnant_?» Dekker asked, his voice soft, his tone mild.

«They are there, _Herr Hauptmann_, in the old Storeroom as you ordered. It has been converted into a Barracks-Room for them.» Kimmich was uncertain now; had he exceeded Dekker's intentions?

But the Panzer commander nodded, pleased, and headed for their door. He opened it and entered without knocking, probably not the smartest thing he'd ever done. Jim entered hard on his heels and managed to knock Connolly to one side before he could flatten the German. "Easy, Larry," Brewster rasped, his throat sore now from the blow he'd fended off from Dekker. "It's just us. _Unser Hauptmann_ didn't think. Stand down; it's okay."

"Oh, jeez… Sorry, Sarge." He switched to German then. «I apologize, _Herr Hauptmann_.» There could be no doubting his sincerity; Dekker nodded his forgiveness.

"I vill haf to remember not to startle you avake. You haf ferry (very) sharp teeth, Connolly." He grinned. "For my forgifnez, _you_ vill stand Guard on the Room next door until Noon. I do not vish my new Cook to be molezted by _anyvone._ Thiz duty vill among you diffided be …_nein… __**vill be**_diffided. _Ja?"_

He looked over at Brewster then, his eyes intent. _"Und __**you **_vill vith me vork on _mein Englisch_. Much improvfed it _muss_ be."

_"Zu Befehl, mein Hauptmann,"_ Jim replied with a grin and a click of his heels. "We can start to work on it whenever you wish, sir."

«Later we will begin. Right now, I wish to catch an Hour or two of Sleep. _Then_ I will see what sort of Disaster we have been handed and will take your Report. Get some more Sleep yourself, _Oberleutnant_; we will have much Work to do soon, I fear.» Dekker grimaced at the thought. He didn't mind work, easy _or_ hard, but he wasn't trained for _this._ He looked over at his commando in resignation.

«Jimmy, _komm_.» Then he turned and headed for his room, and sleep.

To Kimmich's surprise, the _Amerikaner_ did not immediately follow his… master? Instead, he turned and headed back out the door to the _Kubelwagen._ Kimmich understood when he returned moments later, laden with their baggage. Some he set down in the hallway; one medium-sized bag he brought into the new cook's room. Then he was back out in the hall to retrieve the bags and head upstairs also.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was nearly 9 a.m. before either Dekker or Brewster stirred out of bed. Rumor was already running through the camp like wildfire, for Anna had been up and out bright and early. She had peeked out her bedroom door, the need for a bathroom drawing her to explore, and had nearly panicked at the strange man waiting outside it. Only his uniform, so similar to Jimmy's, staved off her anxiety attack.

Connolly was taken by surprise, but it _did_ make sense. A 'new cook' shouldn't need a bodyguard, but a lone female in this camp sure did, especially considering the Goon Squad. He managed to speak before she could slam her door shut again. «_Guten Morgen, Fräulein_. How can I assist you?» He kept back from the door, trying to present the least threat possible, and gave that little half-bow the Germans seemed so fond of.

Anna peered at him through the crack, her eyes mirroring her suspicion. «_Morgen_. Who are you?» she replied in so soft a whisper that he almost couldn't hear her.

«I am called Connolly, _Fräulein_. I am one of _Hauptmann_ Dekker's Hounds. He set me on Guard here, so you would not be disturbed by anyone.» He understood only too clearly Dekker's reasoning in saying 'molested' last night, but he didn't want to frighten this young lady any more than she already was.

She let the door open a bit wider. «Is there…» But she couldn't continue, blushing a bright red.

Larry was _not_ an idiot. He smiled gently at the new girl. «If you have Bath Things, _Fräulein_, there is a full Bath upstairs, and other necessary Facilities. There is only a 'Necessary' down here. I am sure you will wish to freshen up; there is an excellent Lock on the Door upstairs, and both _Hauptmann_ Dekker and _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich are within close Call. I would be pleased to offer you Escort, _Fräulein_.»

She listened to him, her eyes wide at his courtesy. She had to stop this, she knew. He would be so angry when he found out later… Head down in shame, she half-sobbed, «But I am _J__ü__dische_!» And to her astonishment, his smile widened.

«My Fellow-Hound, Davidson, will be pleased,» he told her, to her shock. «He will have someone to share the Sabbath with now; he, too, _ist ein Jude_, although the rest of us are not.

«But come. It matters not to me. I don't think it really bothers _Hauptmann_ Dekker; he would not have brought you back with him otherwise. My offer of Escort still stands, _Fräulein_. Besides, it's the easiest Way to learn your Way around here, and the safest. There are some Guards outside that seriously need… But never mind. Dekker and Jimmy will put _them_ straight really quick, I suspect.»

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded, her decision reached. «I will be right there.» And she ducked back into her room to retrieve a small bath-bag. Still cautious, she edged out into the hall, looking around herself carefully. She froze in terror as a door right down the hallway opened and some men spilled out, joking with each other. They, too, froze momentarily at the sight of her and …Connolly?… then they grinned at her escort.

"How'd _you_ get so lucky, Larry?" Perelli asked, although he made no attempt to come closer.

"I nearly took Dekker's head off this morning when he an' Jimmy got in. The captain came in, I guess to check on us, but… _you_ know how light I sleep. Jimmy took the punch, an' I got sentry and escort duty 'til noon. _Then_ it's one of _your_ turns. Dekker brought her back to be his personal cook. Ben, she's Jewish."

Anna watched them carefully, trying to understand their rapid speech. About all she could pick out, though, were names and the word "Jewish." She watched in wonder as one of the men smiled wider at her after that announcement—possibly the man called Davidson? But Connolly was shooing them away, albeit still grinning, and turned back to her. «Why don't we get you Upstairs? See, no one will hurt you here. Those are the Rest of Dekker's Hounds. You can meet them later, all right?»

She nodded again, thinking nothing could surprise her now, only to find herself stunned once more. They were headed for a back set of stairs—this had been a very wealthy family, she realized, to have needed servants' stairs—when a young German nearly ran into them as he came out of the kitchen.

«Oh! Excuse me, Connolly,» he gasped, then chuckled. «I didn't see you… Who is _this_ lovely Lady? Are Rations _so_ slim, among our Civilians?»

«_'Morgen, Gefreiter_ Jäger.» Larry had a relaxed grin, for he'd gotten to know the camp "secretary" and had found he liked the young man. «This is _unser Hauptmann's_ new personal Cook… I don't know what her Name is yet; she just got up.»

«My Name is Anna,» she said, her eyes lowered, body trembling, as if she expected to be hit for speaking.

Jäger looked over at Connolly in surprise, but correctly read the American's slight headshake. He looked back at Anna and smiled as he reached for her hand. «It is a Pleasure to meet you, Anna,» he said as he lifted her fingers close to his lips. Her eyes snapped up to meet his, shocked at his gallant gesture. «Welcome, _Fräulein_,» was all he said; then he nodded at Connolly and went back to his work.

Connolly got her upstairs safely and back down to her room without incident, then resumed his post outside her door. That was where Kimmich found him when he, too, came downstairs.

_"Und _how iz ze cook?" he asked. "Vill she breakfazt _machen?"_

Larry tried to hide his cringe. «I don't think so, _Herr Oberleutnant_. We'll get it set up for her this Morning, but we probably won't be ready until at least Suppertime. Do we have Stuff for the Dining Room? And for Serving?»

Kimmich gave up his attempt with a grin. «It sounds like we have much to find. The Battalion _used_ to have a Dining Service, I was told, but I don't know if it survived Russia. We will see, and also see what we have been left here. This Place wasn't vandalized before we got here, by some Miracle.

«But I _do_ have a little _Kaffe_ left; can she…?»

«Probably. You'll have to have the Kitchen checked. I _would_ do it, but… _You_ understand, right?» Connolly looked a bit uncertain of Kimmich's response, but the _Oberleutnant _just nodded.

«_Ja_; _you_ were put on Guard-Duty, not on a Search Mission,» he responded with a faint smile. «And the Others are busy. I will have Jäger look. And so we will have fresh _Kaffe_ for _unser Hauptmann_ when he rises.»

The search was successful and the _Kaffe_ made; the smell of its brewing woke Dekker and Brewster. Oskar had somehow found out that his captain was back, in that way known only to exceptional orderlies, so there was a freshly pressed uniform waiting when Dekker returned to his room from the bath that he'd allowed himself to indulge in. He dressed while Brewster washed and shaved and also changed into a clean uniform. Then, together, they went down to a civilized start to the morning.

It was a good thing that he had prepared himself, for the rest of his morning was anything but peaceful or stress-free.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker strolled out of the farmhouse, his Rottweiler at his heels. Everything _seemed_ peaceful; he'd heard Anna puttering in the kitchen, had seen Connolly, ever-watchful, in the kitchen helping her go through cabinets and closets. All seemed reasonably right with his world… until he got outside and really looked around.

Surly-looking guards swaggered in pairs around the old barn, scowled at by his Panzer troops. The barn itself was shut up tight, blocking out light and fresh air.

He watched as his last three Hounds headed towards said barn, bearing kettles and a bucket of utensils, all under heavy guard. Dekker could feel his temper start to rise, for it looked like the troops were being overbearing with his _Kommandos_… and then he realized that the armed guards were there to _protect_ his _Amerikaner._ He could feel his temper skyrocketing. "Thiss iz, how do you say, fverry not _gut," _he muttered angrily to Brewster as he began stalking towards the barn. He could _feel_ the tension and anger radiating from his Hound and knew that it wouldn't take much to set _him_ off, either.

"No. This is _very_ not good." Brewster got that out through clenched teeth. Already they could see a pair of guards swaggering in their direction, no doubt to show off for the _Kommandant,_ now that he was finally here.

One of the approaching guards plowed right in despite the escort, trying to trip… Davidson, that was, Dekker saw. The second guard apparently had better sense, for _he_ looked at the approaching Panzer commander and held his own place. But the first man tried to shove Davidson, no doubt to make him spill whatever he was carrying for the excuse to punish his clumsiness.

But Davidson somehow shifted out of the way, letting the _guard_ stumble and look like an uncoordinated fool. Dekker heartily approved of his little _Juden's_ tactic, but the guard was angered now, and it was taking two of the escorts to hold him back.

«Enough!» Dekker roared, furious. «Put that Man in Irons! If he wishes to fight so badly, we'll see that he is sent Someplace where fighting abounds.» He shifted his gaze to the other guard, but that man was carefully backing up. At first Dekker thought that the man's fear was caused by him, but he realized suddenly that the guard was staring just beyond and to his right. _Then_ he knew. «Jimmy, hold,» he said, nearly laughing. «We do not need the Confusion right now. Just… _Komm' mit_.»

«_Jawohl, mein Hauptmann_,» the low, growled response came, indicating the degree of ire. But he _was_ a well-trained, obedient Rottweiler, and so he heeded his master's command.

That situation under control once more, Dekker continued to follow the morning meal for the prisoners being held in the barn. The guards held their machine pistols at the ready as the barn doors were swung open to allow the small group of commandos access to the men within. None tried to bolt outside, and everything seemed calm enough, so Dekker decided to follow the group inside.

That was nearly the death of him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Most of the men held captive in that barn were loose; that was why the doors were kept closed now. They were mostly aircrews, with a few ground-pounders thrown in for good measure. Unfortunately, they hadn't been prisoners long enough to be truly cowed. Still, they were considered reasonably 'safe'. Only the group of British commandos were kept on tethers any longer; most of those could probably have been allowed loose in the barn unsupervised. They were routinely used on work details now, all except the sergeant-major.

_He_ was kept confined in his stall, always on a shackle-chain. They no longer took him to the 'latrine stall'; he had his own covered bucket right in his stall. But this was a barn; many small pieces of metal and other oddments could be found in such, no matter how carefully one was cleaned out. And the sar-major had attracted a small group of like-minded troublemakers, who'd only lacked a leader to be dangerous. Somehow, they'd managed to pick the lock on his shackle; he'd only been waiting for what _he_ felt was the opportune moment. And to him, Dekker coming in with next to no guard was perfect. An old rusty strap-hinge had been found, and sharpened by rubbing it on the stone wall of the barn. With this in his hand, the British commando attacked as Dekker walked past him.

He hadn't counted on Jimmy. The _Amerikaner_ saw the movement and tried to block the attack; in some part, he was successful, for the piece of metal was not buried in the German's kidneys. Instead, it ripped a furrow down the back of Dekker's right arm, more painful than dangerous. And then Brewster and the sar-major were rolling in the aisle, locked in combat. Several other prisoners joined in the attack, and the combatants were so close that the guards couldn't use their weapons for fear of hitting Dekker. But the other _Hünde _dropped their burdens and dove into the fray without hesitation, and most of the rest of the POWs had sense enough to keep as far from the riot as the walls of the barn would allow. Only one other, a young Army lieutenant, joined the fight, trying to pull men away from the Panzer commander, cussing them for fools as he threw bodies clear.

At last, several German soldiers were able to get to the heart of the struggle and get the situation under control once more. None of them tried to penetrate the 'perimeter' that the _Hünde_ now had around Dekker, as Brewster applied pressure to the wounded arm to try to slow the bleeding. Finally they eased Dekker outside, in time to witness the end of the scuffle that had taken place there between the 'guards' who'd come with the new prisoners, and Dekker's own men.

«They would have slaughtered all within the Barn, _mein Hauptmann_» _Oberfeldwebel _Seidel explained to his commander, once he'd gotten to the medical tents. «That would have ruined us all.»

«No Doubt those were their Orders,» Dekker agreed, forcing himself to hold still for the doctor who was now stitching up the gash in his arm. «Show me their Ringleaders; I will send them East also, as soon as I can arrange Replacements.

«Now, though, I have another Problem to solve. Have Second Company fall out; I need all Prisoners showing any signs of fighting separated from the Rest, so have all the Men brought outside for Inspection. And yes, I realize that there will be many. Just… do it.»

«Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann,» Seidel acknowledged his orders with a salute, then left to carry them out.

The prisoners were brought outside, held in widely scattered groups of no more than ten. Records were produced, matching each man to his photo. Dekker sat back in a chair that had been brought out for him, Brewster and McKeigh flanking him at each shoulder. Connolly was out here now, replaced inside by Davidson. Dekker was taking no chances with his little _Jude_. Perelli looked as grim as the rest. And so they waited, until each POW had been positively identified.

Dekker rose and approached the first group of very frightened men. His Hounds paced him, knowing what was going to happen, but not feeling terribly sympathetic. These men had been treated fairly well, and everyone knew the penalty for attacking a guard. And their loyalty was to Dekker now.

Only one man in that first group bore signs of recent fighting; the young German captain had that one taken away from the rest, but didn't order anything else. Yet.

The second group consisted of eight men: the British commandos. Most knelt quietly, but it took two strong men to control the sergeant-major. Dekker knew that the others had held onto whichever men had been "thrown" into their stalls by the Army lieutenant, rather than trying to get into the fight themselves, so _their_ bruises were excusable. The sar-major, though… With his usual economy of effort, Dekker drew his Mauser and put a bullet between the prisoner's eyes, shocking the newer prisoners. The other commandos held their breaths, wondering if they would be tarred with the same brush, but Dekker just moved on to the next set of men, a group of ten.

This group had a few banged-up men in it, looking utterly terrified. Dekker looked over their records to see if they had any skills worth retaining. Thinking this over, he had them separated also and continued on.

The Army lieutenant, when he came to the group containing that man, gave him pause. «_Sprechen Sie Deutsch?_» he asked the man, who paused before answering.

"Not really, sir."

"A pity," was Dekker's comment as he moved on to the final group.

He had seven men singled out when he was done. He looked at them, then looked at the bulk of the prisoners. "Ve haff tried to treat you fairly _hier,"_ he said, speaking slowly. "Yet thiss you haff done. You vere varned that you vould be shot _für_ attacking the guardz. Vone hass already paid the price. Should there be a similar inzident, I vill reprizalz _machen. Verstehe'?"_ He looked over his seven 'guilty' parties, scowling, then had the three most battered pulled apart from the rest. He was reaching for his pistol again when Brewster spoke.

«_Herr Hauptmann_? May I speak?» This would not be the time to issue any sort of challenge, Jim knew, but he could not just be silent at a miscarriage of justice… or what would pass for justice here.

«What is it, Jimmy?» Dekker was calm now and didn't even mind the interruption too much. His Hounds knew better, unless there were good reasons.

«Two of the Men in that Group are innocent, Sir. I remember knocking into some Guys when I took down the Sergeant-Major; they didn't try to interfere, only to get clear of the Mess. We were flailing about pretty crazily, Sir.»

«Sir?» It was Kevin now, Dekker saw, and he raised an eyebrow in inquiry at his Hound to give permission to continue. «I only remember fighting off three Men, Sir. I know things were really mixed up, but…»

«Very well. Point out the ones that you know for certain are Guilty; I will let the others off with a Warning. Will that suit you, _meine H__ü__nde_?» Dekker's voice was tolerant; he actually was pleased with how this was turning out. Everyone here _knew_ that he had to make an example; it would be best to get only the truly guilty if possible.

«Thank you, _Herr Hauptmann_,» Jim spoke for all of them. Bad enough to condemn those three, but, really, they did it to themselves. After a brief discussion among the Hounds to confirm what each remembered, they pointed out Dekker's true attackers, and watched in satisfaction as the rest were sent back to their original groups. Three shots rang out before the men could even return; they spun to see three more bodies lying on the ground.

«_Oberfeldwebel_, see that a Work Detail is assigned to bury these Bodies. Have the rest of these Prisoners go back into the Barn; they can have Water, but they will not be fed until Tonight.» Dekker's voice was hard; his Hounds knew better than to protest this… but Dekker paused a moment.

«Wait,» he said, then looked over his prisoners once more. «You will feed my _Englisch Kommandos_, and that _Oberleutnant der Infanterie_. _They_ are the only ones, save my Hounds, that tried to help, so they may eat while the others will not.»

And then he turned and stalked back to the house, and his office. He had paperwork to write up now, as if he hadn't had enough already. Grumbling, he still stopped to pat Schatze, who knew it would be safe, finally, to go to him.

He was well into the paperwork when he came upon the packet from a _Generalmajor_

F. S. Mannheim, of the Inspector General's office. The more he read over the enclosed forms, the more puzzled he became. Finally he shrugged and began filling out the questionnaires.

**Date of Birth:** March 18th 1914

**Family History**

**Father**;** Mother**;** Birth dates**;** Occupations**;** dates of Death, if applicable**;

**legal guardians, if any:**

**Siblings, if any:**

_That _made his throat clog, especially **Date of Death, if applicable: **and

**Circumstances of Death: **

Hmm… well, **Parents: **Automobile accident in 1921 for his mother; Father killed in 1920, in a training exercise not all that long after the previous war.

His brother….

They were just seven when _Mutti_ was killed. She had gone shopping with her brother, _Onkel_ Willi, and the car had gone off the road while trying to avoid a drunk driver. She had been going to buy presents for their birthday… Oh, _Gott_, how it hurt, still. Dekker sat motionless, frozen by the memories.

It was a Military Orphanage they'd been placed in, since they had no other family and _Vater_ had been a Soldier – a good one, well-decorated. The Kommandant had been a newly–promoted _Hauptmann_ by the name of Lasch; Hubertus Ignatius Lasch… a real _Preussicher Sohn eines Weibchens.(eng:_SOB_)_

Johann and Mannfred had hated him on sight. What a birthday present _that_ had been.

And a little over a year later, his twin was dead…

Schatze came to him, whining, pushing her nose into his cold hand. He petted her reflexively, still lost in his memories…

They had been doing very well in their classes, despite the shock of their mother's death, and the disruption of all they'd known. But they couldn't seem to please _Hauptmann_ Lasch, no matter how hard they tried. _Vater_ had been pleased when they tried hard; they were both very bright. And then Mannfred had died one night, falling down a set of stairs that he'd had no reason to be anywhere near. He, Johann, had been sick, medicated to insensibility to make him sleep at last… but he'd 'felt' his twin die despite that. The nightmares had begun after that…

His grades had started to drop then, and _Hauptmann_ Lasch had finally seemed pleased. But he had learned a lesson here. He still studied hard, still learned all the work and more; he just kept hidden _all_ that he learned. For he had discovered that it did not pay to appear too smart…

Dekker shook himself, and went back to the forms.

**Schooling:**

**Hitler Youth:**

**Date of Induction to Military Service:**

**Service History:**

**Awards won:**

**Commanding Officers:**

All in all, the oddest set of forms that he'd ever seen. With a shrug he finished it, signing it and sealing it back into its envelope. It would go out with the next day's dispatches… Giving it no further thought, Dekker continued to plow through his paperwork, until only the Death-records for those four prisoners remained. _Those_ he would do after lunch, which he was now more than ready for. With a sigh he stretched and rose, and went to look for his Hounds.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Early afternoon found Dekker prowling around the outside of the barn, checking the former barnyard and adjacent buildings carefully. The other barn, an older structure, would not do at all; it was nearly falling down and the roof clearly leaked. That decision was easy to make: they would tear it down, reusing the old foundation, which was still sound. They would just have to watch very carefully for signs of tunneling.

Other, smaller buildings would be torn down also, since they were too small to be really useful. They could be used as additional building material, and with them out of the way they would have a nice flat area to enclose for an exercise compound for the prisoners.

Again Dekker stopped and looked around. This had been a very prosperous farm, before the war. Even the years of neglect hadn't harmed it much. He couldn't help wondering if there was anyone from the original family left to claim it, once the fighting was over. He watched as _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel bent to pick up a handful of dirt, and let it slide from his fingers thoughtfully.

«Good Soil, _Herr Hauptmann_,» he said slowly. «If we are to be here, and keeping Prisoners for any length of Time, we could maybe raise some Vegetables. It would help stretch the Rations, and would help keep the Men busy…»

«A good Thought, Fritz,» Dekker agreed, and it was. Idle hands were what caused trouble, and growing food for themselves would be good motivation for the men. «Lay out some Fields, but not here. We must fence _this_ in, leaving room for more Barracks. You know as well as I that this is not the End of Things. For now, we will have to use Tents, once we get a Fence up. My Hounds, and the _Englisch Kommandos_ can do most of that work, I think…»

He paused as several trucks rolled to a stop close to the old farm house, then he grinned. «I believe that the first of our supplies have just arrived.» It would be a race to see if they could get the compound up and ready before the next influx of prisoners occurred. Dekker suspected that it was a race he was meant to lose, and sighed. They would manage. Somehow.

They started immediately, sending teams into the forest to cut trees for the fence posts. They would quickly rot out, but they would last long enough. After all, the war would soon be over, given how things were progressing. Dekker's Hounds started digging postholes leading west from what would be the south-facing Main Gate; the _Engländers_ started working east. Very quickly a competition developed between the two groups, which the Germans found amusing to watch. Dekker, too, watched for several minutes, then frowned, for the numbers were too uneven… With a grin he had the Infantry lieutenant who had helped the other day added to the Hound's group to balance the competition. And by evening the entire front face of the Compound had posts set in, with holes dug starting well down the sides, just waiting for the German crews to emplace the posts.

First thing in the morning both teams were out and digging again. Dekker had to laugh, watching posts being lifted by the Main-guns on his Panthers, as if they were cranes. His men had started stringing the wire on the front posts. Unfortunately, this was all just the inner line of fencing; the outer line would be dug and erected once they had a basic containment perimeter established. Uncharacteristically, he found himself becoming mildly optimistic now… until _his _outer perimeter called in to say that a convoy of trucks was arriving.

No. He was _not_ meant to win this race. Still, he had come close; his men had reached the front corners, and were now starting down the sides with the wire. It would take a good bit of time to process all these men in; his _H__ü__nde_ and _Englisch Kommandos_ could keep working… He sent Jäger to the Third Company of Panzers with orders that had the Panther tanks starting up their engines. Within fifteen minutes they were moving into position behind what would be the rear of the compound. Heavy tow chains were laid on the ground to mark the rear boundary; any prisoners crossing that warning marker would be shot. This would be carefully explained during the in-processing…

Dekker's thoughts were side-tracked as a ragged column of exhausted POW's came into view, marching behind a line of six trucks and a command car, flanked by motorcycle out-riders. He waited, barely holding onto his temper as the column commander, a _Major_, languidly strolled over to where Dekker waited. Several of the _Hauptmann's_ men, watching nearby, cringed when the man demanded to know the Battalion commander's whereabouts from this lowly Captain, in a condescending tone.

Dekker looked at him coldly, this immaculate … _Desk Jockey_. «_I_ am this Battalion's _Kommander, Herr Major_,» he said, ice in his voice.

Whatever nasty comeback the _Major_ was contemplating was quickly swallowed when he saw the men gathering around this upstart _Hauptmann_. He had heard that this Dekker was a dangerous man, but he had scoffed. Now, though, he believed what he'd been told. All business would be the way to deal with this, he saw. So be it.

«Here are your Orders, _Hauptmann_,» he said, taking the sealed packet from his aide and handing it over personally. «There are Three Hundred and Seventy-one Prisoners here; the sick and wounded are in the last three Trucks. Rations and Blankets for them are in the two Trucks before that, and Field Tents are in the first. Headquarters had been advised that this Facility did not have permanent Quarters for them yet; I see that you are better prepared than we had been led to believe. I will be including this Information in my Report; good Job, _Her Hauptmann_.»

Still wary, Dekker inclined his head slightly to acknowledge this compliment, if compliment it truly was.

«Generally speaking, Sir, what do we have here? What types of Troops, so we have some Idea what to expect.»

Again the _Major_ felt nothing but approval, for there was no sense of worry from the Panzer captain. «We have mostly Fliers, from the last of their Air Raids. There are some Ground Troops, but not many. They emptied two Dulags for you here; you will probably get more as they are taken in the Future; the other Camps are all too crowded. I understand that your Command was past due to be rotated back from Front Line slots; High Command _does_ realize that this is a Combat Unit, but _someone_ has to watch these Prisoners… unless you want to take your Men back to the Eastern Front so soon?»

«_Herr Major_, we go where we are sent, and do our Duty. We have **never **shirked our Duty.» Dekker was stiff with indignation at this perceived slur on their Courage and Honor, but the _Major_ just sighed.

«You misunderstand me, _Hauptmann_. No one was impugning your Honor, or the Courage of your Men. This, now, is your Duty, unpleasant and unworthy of you and your Men though it is. It is understood that you will see it done to the best of your extremely capable Abilities.

«Now, you have Food and Supplies, and temporary Shelter. We will be leaving you experienced Guards to supplement your Men. Your Orders include the Name and Number of the Command to contact with any further Questions or Requests. The Trucks will remain until you have emptied them; they will then return my extra Men to me. _I_ must leave; good Luck, _Hauptmann_.»

Dekker came to attention and saluted, thinking that they'd need more than luck: they'd need a _Bloody Miracle_, as the Englanders would say. With a sigh of his own he turned to Kimmich and Seidel and started to get this mess organized.

A work crew was brought out of the barn, for they understood Dekker a little now, at least _way_ more than the newcomers would. These were charged with setting tents up on the far side of the barn. The new prisoners wouldn't be able to complain about being sheltered like that, since Dekker's own troops were still living under canvas.

The new prisoners, those afoot, were brought up into the space in front of the barn and told to sit on the ground in ranks. They were willing to do so, since most had dropped, exhausted, when they'd first been stopped inside Dekker's camp. A second work-crew was formed from the Barn's inhabitants, and water was brought to the new arrivals. Dekker's battle-hardened veterans prowled the outskirts of the new men's formation, hard-eyed and ready-weaponed; no one wanted to challenge them. The formation was quiet.

The German started unloading the trucks of the sick and wounded, the Battalion's Medics and Doktors having arrived with a small truck of supplies from the Hospital tents. They expected the worst in these prisoners, and were grateful that things weren't quite as bad as they'd feared.

Now the Hounds and _Kommandos_ were starting the holes along the back side of the new compound. _They_ would soon need care themselves, for raw hands and weeping blisters, but there was no stopping them, especially Dekker's Hounds. This was the only way they could protect the man who now protected them, so they did what they felt they must and damn the consequences to themselves. They were not alone in their determination, for the _Panzersoldaten _pushed themselves just as hard setting the posts in as the first crews did digging the holes. _Their_ hands fared better though, for they had proper gloves to protect them. Still, no one complained.

They were determined to have this done before dark.

The deathly ill were transported to the Hospital tents, the merely sick and not-so-badly wounded were settled in the barn as they were identified and treated. And none of the waiting men could find cause for complaint in the care that their comrades were given.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker stood back and looked over the multitude of POWs, a frown on his face. «It takes too long to compare Pictures, _Oberleutnant_,» he finally observed bitterly. «Any Escapees could get too far away while _we_ had to deal with this sort of Circus. We need to do something… better.

«I want them tattooed like _meine H__ü__nde_.»

«We cannot, _Herr Hauptmann_," Kimmich protested in dismay. «The Swiss would have a fit; that would be as bad as if they'd escaped.»

«How can they complain overmuch? Many have Tattoos already; their Numbers are not so different,» Dekker insisted. «This is as much a Protection for them; they could not be accused of spying when they are recaptured this Way.»

«The _Engländers_ _will_ complain, especially once they return Home. It is too much like what was done in the Concentration and Death Camps, _Herr Hauptmann_. Or, that is what they'll say.» Kimmich was adamant. He'd been shown the errors of his ways and had switched his loyalty to Dekker; now he _would_ protect the man from himself.

Dekker contemplated this, then snorted in disgust. «My Hounds objected less than you, Kimmich; _they_ didn't object at all. They knew they had no choice.

«Very well. We will just mark the _Amerikaner_. _They_ will not be going back to _Amerika_, and they know it. And any _Kommandos_ will also be marked, since their Lives are forfeit anyway. Notify the _Doktors_; they can see to it when they examine and treat the Men. Just their Service Numbers, _Oberleutnant_, _not_ their Prisoner Numbers. That should keep them reasonably calm about this.

«But it **will **be done. See to it.» On that note Dekker turned and entered the farmhouse, his orders given. Kimmich just sighed and went to implement the new instructions, and prayed that the prisoners did not riot over it.

Word spread quickly of what was intended. At first it _did_ look like there might be a riot, but surprisingly, it was the POWs from the barn that quieted things down. "Easy there, mate," one would say as he passed out water. "Ye' can't win it, 'ere. That Jerry solves 'is problems wi' a bullet, 'e does. 'E don't let 'is men slap us around none when we don't give 'em any problems, though."

And another: "They're not guards you know, old chap; they're combat troops. Panzers. Best to just go with it, eh?"

The clincher though, was word of the Hounds, and what _they_ were likely to do to trouble-makers. At last the prisoners realized that any resistance would only get them killed, and the British troops kept the Americans present contained. It didn't help the hard feelings that were driving a wedge betweens the two groups, but it kept them all alive.

At long last the weary work details were brought back to the barnyard by truck, for they were clearly all worn out. Several medics were diverted to see to their raw hands, then they settled on the steps of the farmhouse to quietly watch the in-processing. Even the English Commandos were allowed to sit there, as they had worked just as long and hard as the Hounds. It didn't take them long to sense that there was a problem with the new men.

"Something's got 'em stirred up," Kevin observed as he leaned back on his elbows. "Wonder what?"

One of the Englishmen, a corporal named Mathers, looked at the _Soldat_ standing guard in the doorway. «What's got them so upset, d'you know?» he asked, his voice intentionally quiet. The men all just looked at each other in surprise when they were told.

Finally Brewster snorted. "Well, I know _one_ way to shut them up some." He rose, pulled his shirt off, and headed down into the formation towards one of the water-carriers. One of the new guards moved to stop him, but _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel called to the guard to stand down. The Panzer troopers just looked on with tolerant grins as Dekker's Rottweiler made his way between the seated and sprawled POWs.

«Jimmy, what do you think you're doing?» _Gefreiter_ Hinkes called, but Brewster just grinned back at him.

«Helping defuse the situation some… I hope.» He looked down at the men closest to him. "They'll have some chow for you blokes soon," he told them as he took a drink from the dipper offered to him. Jim knew they were staring; not only was his tattoo clearly visible on his side, but his collar and tags glinted in the late afternoon sunlight. He could hear the curious murmurs begin, and wondered how long…

"'Ey, Mate, what are _you_?" a nearby sergeant couldn't help asking finally.

Jim looked at him and grinned. "I _was_ an American-born Commando. Now? I'm one of Capt'n Dekker's personal… _He_ called us his Hounds, his _H__ü__nde._ Sure beats being executed as a Commando."

"You do realize you're wearin' a bloody dog collar?" another man asked, incredulous.

"Oh, yeah. _We_ did that for a lark; it's what all the best Rottweilers are wearing this year…" he let his voice trail off, then laughed softly. "_You_ guys are going to go home eventually; _we_ can't, ever. And this war's almost lost. Just be patient, and you'll be back in Merry England. We'll cope in our own way. Best know, though, that we'll tear any of you apart if you ever try for Dekker – that's the _Hauptmann_ in charge here. We've already done it once, so don't doubt it.

"Some things just aren't worth fighting over; wearing your service number as a tattoo ain't a whole lot different than on a chain around your neck, if you think about it. 'Later, gents," he said, then returned the water-dipper and headed back to the house, his self-imposed mission accomplished.

It would be extremely slow going, matching prisoners to their records. _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich looked at the file-boxes of records and at the waiting POWs in dismay. Too few of the available troops spoke sufficient English, so it would be well past dark at the rate they were going now before they could get through all the new prisoners. Unless…

«Jimmy – would you and your men be willing to help with the in-processing?» Kimmich asked before he let himself think twice and lost his nerve. The Hound would be well within his rights to refuse _this_ task, for it could be considered working against his own…

Brewster looked thoughtfully at the German. Kimmich was not really high on his list of favorite people… but he wasn't on his shit-list anymore either. And the in-processing was going at a crawl. Slowly he nodded. «This _is_ a Mess, isn't it, Sir? Y'know, there _might_ be a better Way to do this.»

The _Oberleutnant_ leapt at the offered straw. «Then I leave it in _your_ Hands. Arrange it as you wish; just get it done before full Dark.»

The _Amerikaner_ gaped at him a second, then laughed. «_Zu befehl, Herr Oberleutnant_!» Jim called with a click of his heels from his seat on the steps. "C'mon, guys – let's get this show on the road. You chaps are welcome to come play too, if you want," he added as he glanced at the British _Kommandos_. They exchanged looks amoung themselves, then rose to follow their American compatriots.

Jim had extra tables brought, and his men separated the file-boxes out along their lengths. Secondary stations were set up behind them, with medics and the tattoo kits waiting there. Guards also waited behind the main tables, ready to 'encourage' any reluctant prisoners who required tattoos. The boxes were arranged alphabetically, so all they needed were the men themselves.

"Okay men, listen up," Brewster finally called. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner you all will be fed and under shelter. So line up by last names at the following tables – you don't have to all come up at once, but keep an eye on 'your' line, and come up when it starts to get short. All American-born personnel, and all Commandos of whatever nationality will then proceed past us to the medics for your tattoos; the rest will go straight to the tent-areas. Commandos will be quartered together regardless of nationality; other American and British troops may share quarters as they wish, but the Krauts would _prefer_ the Yanks separate from the Brits. _I_ don't care – that's up to you if you want to argue with the guys controlling the guns.

"Don't bother wasting your breath, or our time complaining that we're 'collaborating with the enemy' – we are, and you'd best be thankful for it. These troops are _not_ prison-guard types, they're combat troops, and _Waffen_-SS at that. So don't press your luck – they tend to shoot first, then ask what your corpse thought it was trying to do. Sit out there too long, and they just might decide to use you for target practice. So come on, let's get this done, so we can _all _eat."

Reluctantly the exhausted POWs began to struggle to their feet and queue up to the tables. Kimmich watched from the farmhouse steps. He'd been slightly appalled at Brewster's little speech once it had been translated for him, but he had to admit that it had been effective. He found it surprising to note how fast the lines moved, although he worried since the night came nearly as swiftly. Now though, only a few men remained to be processed; the ones requiring tattoos had gone though near the beginning, choosing to 'get it over with' as he'd heard one man comment. Food was starting to come out from the mess in large kettles, and those already settled in the tents were being fed. Dekker would be pleased, he knew; their _Kommandant_ had not been happy to be unprepared, and had been expecting trouble. If it had not been for the Hounds…

Dekker rubbed off on one, Kimmich realized: two months ago he'd never have considered using prisoners to process in others. This would have taken much longer if he'd used just his own men, and there would have been trouble as tempers grew short over the delay. Now they'd just hope to keep them all within bound until the back fenceline's wire could be put up in the morning.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jim stretched under the **hot **water of the shower. He had to grin as he listened to his men and Dekker's English _Kommandos_ laughing and joking with each other. He had half-expected resentment from the Brits, but there didn't seem to be any. All to the good, Jim knew; Dekker would be using all of _them_ to help watch over the 'common' POWs. He only hoped that the German didn't intend to add any others to their merry little band. Although… He stopped to gaze at the recent addition to their group, that American infantry lieutenant. What was his name?... Oh, yeah, Ted Wilkes, that was it. He was quiet, and kept somewhat to himself, as if he weren't sure that they'd accept him. Didn't throw his weight around, either. He'd been added to their group that morning, no doubt to 'even the odds'… He seemed to be a good man, even if he spoke little to no German. With a grin, Jim decided that he'd keep him…

"Hey, LT, you okay?" he asked as he turned his water off and stepped out to dry off. They'd been allowed into the Panzer's showers, no doubt as a reward for their hard work, and had been allowed really hot water also. True luxury, and appreciated by their sore muscles.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah… Brewster, right?" Wilkes looked over at Jim somewhat uncertainly. He didn't fit in with these men, not really. He was no commando – surely Dekker knew that.

"We don't bite our friends, you know." Jim teased carefully. "Relax, okay?"

Wilkes sighed. "Yeah. I just don't understand him. I mean, why me? I don't _fit_ here, really."

"No, you don't; you're regular Army," Brewster agreed. "On the other hand, you're smart, and you tried to help the _Hauptmann_. Loyalty is one thing he understands, and he rewards what appears to be such. I don't think that he'll expect you to operate on our level – geez, _that_ sure sounded conceited, didn't it? Still, I think you know what I mean. And we can get you up to our standards physically. It'll just take time, _if _you want to put in the effort, that is. Do you _want_ to be one of us?" Jim watched the lieutenant, waiting quietly.

"I've been thinking about that all day," Wilkes admitted softly. "It's not an easy decision, either. I mean, he treats you guys good, but there'll be no going back if I do. And I've got a wife and at least one kid, too, waiting for me back home."

"Hate to say this, but there's no going back in either case. I'm sure you've heard the rumors, but… A fella I knew back in England tried to go home for a family emergency, but was denied permission. He told me that some stuffed shirt came to see him from the American Embassy, and was downright nasty when he told him that he'd go to prison if he ever went back to the States. _Then_ he got really ugly when Paul wouldn't tell him how he'd heard about his Mom being so sick. But the long and short of it is, there's no going back for _**any**_of us."

"Shit!"

"In spades," Jim agreed with a wry smile, then sobered. "Should make your decision easier, though. He'll treat you good; probably throw us all headlong into danger, too. He's got an Enemy, you see…"

"So what else is new?" Wilkes sighed again. "You guys don't mind? Me, I mean," he added for clarification.

"Nah, why should we?" Brewster asked with a laugh. "I mean, _you_ know that Sergeants rule the world, right?"

"No argument from me," Wilkes confirmed. "I don't want any trouble, an' I'm not gonna mess up a squad that works."

"Good enough. C'mon, let's get some chow," Jim said as he drew their new man out after him. "Someday I'll tell you about our _old_ lieutenant…"

They left the showers, but found that they would still be delayed a bit: the Medics were lying in wait for them, insisting on rebandaging their hands. They submitted with good grace, knowing that it would be quicker that way, then went on for their dinners.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ten days later, the hay loft of the horse barn had been converted into barracks-space for prisoners, and the second, older barn had been demolished and partially rebuilt. The framework was done, and the roof; all that was needed was siding, and its hayloft floored for more barracks-space. Far too many men were still under canvas; many more huts and barracks would need to be built before winter snows came. The Hounds were helping on the construction as the Staff car, complete with motorcycle outriders, pulled up into the yard.

Brewster paused in his work, scowling at the car. An unfamiliar pennon flapped from the small flagstaffs on the front fenders… but it had to be someone important judging by the way the place suddenly resembled a kicked-over anthill. A junior officer climbed out and hurried around the car to open the door for his Superiors. Two Officers exited the car; Jim couldn't tell what the underling was – he was too far away to see his shoulder-boards clearly – but the red stripes down the uniform legs of the second officer were clearly visible.

"Wonder who the General is?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

One of the new guards came over, scowling fiercely at this unauthorized break. He nearly struck this lazy prisoner, holding his hand barely in time as he remembered suddenly that _these_ men were privileged.

Jim turned to him. «What are those Service Pennons? I don't recognize them,» he asked, his voice lowered.

«Was?» the guard asked, then he realized that the car's arrival was what had caused the prisoner to stop working. «That is none of your concern,» he snapped in reply, angry and feeling as though he had no control over this prisoner.

Jim looked at him with displeasure. «Anything that affects the _Herr Hauptmann_ affects us all; it's _all_ of our concern,» he told his guard in disgust. Then he turned away to watch Dekker come out onto the porch to greet his Distinguished Visitor and escort him inside.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker paused just inside the door to settle a non-committal expression on his face, then stepped forth to greet the latest in a long list of irritants. _Gefreiter_ Jäger had said that it was someone from the Inspector General's Office; Dekker didn't even want to try to guess what he wanted. Whatever it was would no doubt be bad; the higher his visitor's rank, the worse it would be for _him_, he'd learned.

The man was young for a general, Dekker thought idly as he came to attention and saluted. «_Hauptmann_ Dekker reporting, _Herr General_; how can I serve you?» he announced himself, then waited. The visitor looked him over with a steady gaze, then returned the salute.

«_Generalmajor_ Mannheim, Inspector Generals' Office. Shall we go inside, _Herr Hauptmann_?» he said, but it was a statement – an order – not a request.

Dekker just nodded his head in compliance and opened the door for his visitor. He led the way to his office and indicated a chair. «Would you care to be seated, _Herr General_? Can we get you anything? _Kaffe_, perhaps? We have a little of the real thing… No? Very well; again, _mein Herr_, how can I assist you?»

Mannheim sat in the offered chair, aware of his Aide, _Major_ Ritter, sitting slightly behind and to one side of him. The third member of his party, _Leutnant_ Weber, stood quietly behind them both, watching. So far, Mannheim found himself approving of this young Panzer _Kommander_. Yes, he was a bit nervous, but then _everyone _was when the IG's office came calling for some as-yet-unknown reason.

Dekker didn't act as if he'd anything to hide, at least. Very good.

«You appear to have quite a History with _Generaloberst_ Lasch, _Herr_ Dekker. What can you tell me about him?»

That request stopped Dekker in his mental tracks. Lasch?!! What did _he_ have to do with this business? But, this _was_ theIG asking… He told his tale, Mannheim listening quietly, the Aide, a _Major_, taking notes. The _General_ waited until he'd finished, then asked some pointed questions.

It was amazing, Mannheim reflected, how a man could twist the facts to play to his over-inflated ego, to the detriment of so many other good men. He had long since come to the conclusion that Lasch hadn't exactly _lied_ during the course of his career, but… All these others that he'd spoken to had agreed on one interpretation of events, yet Lasch told the tale with a wildly different cant. It was becoming difficult to ignore the implications. First, though…

«Tell me about the death of your Brother,» he instructed. «And how you managed to cope afterwards.»

Dekker froze, going bone white for a few minutes. «Is this truly necessary, _Herr General_?» he finally managed to force out of a throat gone desert-dry.

«I believe so, yes,» Mannheim confirmed, his voice soft and regretful now.

«_Mein Bruder_…» Dekker was silent for long moments. Finally he began, his voice so soft as to be nearly inaudible.

«We were eight – we loved School, but the more we tried to excel, the more Trouble we seemed to be in. That Winter, many were Sick… I was so sick, the _Doktor_ had me sedated, for I was so restless I could not sleep. Mannfred was not so sick as I; he was allowed to stay in our Room only because I could not sleep at all else, even with the Drugs. Finally I slept… I felt him fall and die, in my Sleep. I woke screaming; I could not sleep for Weeks after, unless I was heavily dosed with Laudanum. Finally the _Doktor_ brought in this old Dog, and I found that I could sleep if she lay in the Bed with me. The Home's _Kommandant_, then-_Hauptmann_ Lasch, had a fit, but didn't dare go against the _Doktor's_ Orders for some Reason.

«The Investigation showed that Mannfred died from a fall down some Stairs, on the far side of the Dormitory. They could never show a Reason for him to have been there; _I_ know that he would never have just wandered away, out of our Room. You see, we had both been severely caned for wandering at Night, shortly after we were brought there. _I_ might have chanced it, but Mannfred was not so bold as I.

«But no one ever really questioned what he was doing there, where only a few of the older Boys were quartered. _That_ Wing was… it had many empty Rooms, you see. Repairs were desperately needed there, but the **Stairs**, and the Landing at their Head, _they_ were in good Condition, with sound Railings. The _Kommandant_ ruled that he must have been sleep-walking, and fell because of that. Oddly, _Herr_ Lasch is the one who found Mannfred; but he could never be bothered with all us Boys at Night before that, unless he'd been called for some disciplinary Matter.

«And Mannfred had never walked in his Sleep before that. I think _that_ was a Lie, to silence the Authorities and his Superiors.»

«Why did you say nothing about this before now?» the General asked, his voice non-accusatory.

«I kept silent at the Time because it did not pay to cross the _Kommandant_; he had too many Ways of getting even, and he would still be in charge after all was said and done. Who ever would believe such a Tale, and from a Child who'd been so Sick at the Time? That has not changed over the Years, either. For some Reason he has always seemed to hate me; those around me suffer for that Enmity." He looked Mannheim in the eyes then. "My Men have been to the Eastern Front three consecutive Tours, now. A Spy was assigned to my Staff, to report any 'Aberrant Behavior'; this within the last Year. Needed Parts for Repairs have been denied us; we have been denied Access to necessary Repair Facilities… Shall I continue, Herr General? And then there is _this_ Duty, to guard POWs. The extra 'trained' Guards we were given are sadistic Brutes, that _my_ Men must constantly watch to protect our Prisoners. I even have to use… 'Unofficial'… Official Channels to obtain the Supplies that I **must **have to maintain these Captives. Lasch goes out of his way to make things difficult; for some Reason he wants me to fail. And I have no Idea _**why**_ this is so.» Dekker had long since given up trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice; if this _General_ didn't like it… well, what was one _more_ Enemy?

But _General_ Mannheim was nodding his head in thoughtful agreement. «I see,» he murmured; «Oh, yes; I _do _see.

«What do you need in the way of Supplies, _Hauptmann_ Dekker?»

«Something for Shelter, _Herr General_.» There was no hesitation over that answer. «We need Buildings of some sort; I'd even be happy with those large metal Hangars they put up, so long as I can get the Stoves and Fuel to heat them. These Men need new Uniforms, many of them. We have Blankets enough for now; they sent us enough Basic Rations so they won't starve this Month, and I have some Red Cross Parcels that I can dole out.

«I do hope to start some Gardens for Vegetables, since we'll be here for some Time to come.» He tried to keep the grimace from his face at that statement, but failed.

«What I need most, though, is a way to exchange these so-called Guards for some decent Men. Injured or recovering Veterans would be adequate, I believe, or slightly Handicapped Men. Real Soldiers, not these Rejects. I do not wish my Charges to be left vulnerable to the Abuse these Goons would very much like to inflict upon them.»

«I can arrange that, easily,» Mannheim answered him, a grim smile on his face. «They need Men on the Eastern Front. Draw up a List of the Men you wish to have transferred out, and send it to my Office. Lasch need not know… You said you have a Spy here, one of _his_ Men?»

«Oh, yes,» Dekker laughed now. «We've come to our own Agreement; he's seen the Error of his Ways. I do not wish to lose him, now that he can be relied upon to feed _**Mis**_information to _General_ Lasch.»

«Very well… let's see, what else?» Mannheim paused in thought, then frowned. «You have a large Complement of Prisoners already; do you think you can grow enough Food?»

«We will have to have a Prison Farm here, I suspect,» Dekker admitted reluctantly. «I realize that Petrol is limited; I will have to try to locate some Workhorses, no doubt.»

«I will put out some Feelers for you; I suspect that I have better Contacts,» Mannheim offered with a grin, then he sobered. «Ah, yes. Speaking of Contacts: I am told you have some… unusual Pets, let us say?» He waited.

Dekker sighed. «_Jawohl, Herr General_. I suspect – _nein_, I _know_ that that is what gave _General_ Lasch the Idea to turn my Men into Jailers. His Man sent Word of my Pets to him – he had not turned to me, yet – but he said that it was the least damaging thing that he could tell Lasch. I suspect that he is correct. Now, though, I see all of his Reports before he sends them on, so I do not get any Surprises.

«Would you like to meet them? _I_ call them my Hounds; _They_ had Collars and Tags made for themselves because of this. They are good Men, and I believe that they are Loyal to me; they are _Amerikaner_, and all but one were _Kommandos_.»

«And that one?» Mannheim asked, intrigued now despite himself.

«He was an _Oberleutnant der Infanterie, Herr General_, but he is not the 'Pack Leader'. _That_ one is my Rottweiler, an _Unterfeldwebel_.»

«You need not drag them in here, Hauptmann. I was merely confirming the Rumor,» Mannheim chuckled, then rose. «I believe that is all I needed to cover; my Staff will be in touch with you when I need anything further, or we find Horses for you.»

Dekker sprang to his feet also, coming to attention. «Thank you, _Herr General_,» he said, then saluted; he watched as his most unusual visitor left the office. He followed them outside and watched from the porch as they got into the Staff car and drove off. What had brought _that_ on, he wondered; had Lasch _finally_ angered someone on the General Staff? He hoped so, very much. And thinking such vindictive thoughts, Dekker turned and went back to his paperwork.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

August 6th, 1942

Stalag 384

Dekker stood out on the farmhouse's porch and surveyed his growing 'domain'. Both barns had now been fully converted as barracks, although the stall dividers had been left in place in the original barn. Now the ugly metal arch of a very large Quonset-style building rose behind the two stone-and-wood structures, with thin tendrils of smoke rising from the smoke stacks of each building as water was boiled for tea and coffee by the prisoners within. Pieces for at least two more of the metal buildings rested on pallets outside the perimeter wire, carefully tarped against the weather.

He looked at it all, and felt good about this mess at last. All of his prisoners were now under decent shelter, and would be protected this coming winter. He watched as a work-crew slowly gathered in front of the compound gates, readying to go pick rocks out of the fields chosen for this fall's crops. It was rather late to be planting, Dekker had been told, but they could hopefully harvest _something_, especially if this fall was as warm as predicted. Now all he needed was the means to plant…

He _felt_ the arrival of his Hound at his back, although he'd heard nothing.

«Any Word, _mein Hauptman_?»

«Nothing yet. I'm sure they will find something…»

«You know, the Russians eat Horses when they find them – maybe they should look for a Supply Depot behind their Lines, or something like that.» Brewster's soft voice had gone thoughtful.

«_Our_ Troops eat them also, Jimmy; I wouldn't be surprised to find out that _we've_ been eating them here…» Dekker let his voice trail off as he watched a clot of men gather furtively behind one corner of the barn. Finally he sighed. «We are feeding them too well – they have too much Energy. Go and tell them, Jimmy, that they had best not be digging any Tunnels, for I _will_ shoot any Men caught trying to escape. I do not have the Patience to deal with any such Idiocy.» He turned abruptly on his heels and stalked into the farmhouse, trying to control his irritation.

Giving a disgusted sigh of his own, Brewster headed for the compound gates, then made his way back to the group of men who watched him come with ill-concealed animosity.

"G'day, gents," Jimmy quietly said. "I know what you think about us, so don't waste your breath telling me now. I've got a warning for you from _Hauptmann_ Dekker. And before you accuse anybody, no one has snitched on you. The Captain says that he'll shoot anyone caught trying to escape, so you'd better not be digging any tunnels. He'll do it, too."

"No one's doin' tha'…" one of the men started to protest, but Brewster just _looked_ at him.

"You men are too obvious, and these Krauts _aren't_ stupid. Dekker saw some of that dirt" – Jim nodded at the small pile gathering at the man's feet – "falling over the top of your shoes. You're lucky he didn't send a squad in to search you just on suspicion; he'd have shot you when they found the scatter-bags. It may be your duty to attempt escape and cause the enemy as much trouble as possible, but keep one thing in mind: he solves his problems with his Mauser pistol. He'll only honor the Geneva Convention so far."

Brewster started to turn to leave, then stopped. "Oh, yeah, one other thing," Jim said, looking at the 'distribution' detail, and around at the now-gathering prisoners. "Dekker also said that they must be feeding you guys too well – you've obviously got too much energy. So if you don't want to be blamed for _everyone's_ rations being cut, I'd lay off the digging." And to the sound of concerned muttering Brewster left the compound.

He was halfway back across the yard when the next act of what he'd later think of as the 'circus' pulled up to the farmhouse. Brewster slowed somewhat to look at them, but continued on his way until the German Officer among the new arrivals yelled a shocked-sounding «_Halt!_»

Brewster stopped and turned to face them. «How can I assist you, _meine Herren_?» he asked, even though he knew that wasn't why the man had yelled.

It was an Infantry major, and he held his Lugar with white-clenched fingers, trembling with rage. Only the presence of the three civilians in the staff car kept him from pulling the trigger. The _Offizier_ fought to get control of himself; he seemed to be failing until Dekker himself came out the door to meet these new visitors. The distraction was fortuitous.

«Jimmy?» Dekker called out in question, but his Hound only shook his head.

«I'm sorry _mein Hauptman_; they haven't said yet,» Brewster answered the cryptic question.

«_Hauptmann_!» the loud, demanding voice of the major rang across the yard. «Your _Kommandant_ allows Prisoners to wander as they wish, unguarded?!!» He was still obviously in shock.

«Of course not, _Herr Major_!» Dekker called back, fighting a grin. «Jimmy is returning from an Errand he'd been given. He is watched, do not fear. But, how can I assist you? I am _Hauptmann_ Dekker, _Kommander_ of this Panzer Battalion, and _Kommandant_ of this Facility.» This brought about more sputtering, but finally one of the civilians spoke.

«I am _Frau_ Schoenbeck, from the International Red Cross. My Companions and I represent the Protecting Power. We are here to investigate Allegations of Prisoner Abuse…» Her voice faded momentarily. «You appear singularly unconcerned, _Herr Hauptmann_. I assure you, this is no trivial Matter.» She glared fiercely at the young Panzer Captain.

«You may believe that I do not take this lightly, _Frau_… Schoenbeck, was it?» Dekker replied smoothly. «You may inspect the Prisoners and their Accommodations as your Heart desires. An Escort will be provided, purely for your Protection.» Dekker ignored the woman's protests and turned to his Hound.

«Jimmy, bring the Pack. You will accompany these People. See that all of their Questions are answered to their satisfaction.

«_Frau_ Schoenbeck, _meine Herren_: you will excuse me, I hope. There is still much Work to be done Today, and I do not want to be thought to intimidate those you wish to question. If you would be so kind, I would like to speak to you again before you leave,» He half-bowed, then left them standing in the yard, shock on their faces.

Jim looked at them and murmured «_Eine Moment, bitte_,» then disappeared into the house also. He reappeared with the others at his back and greeted the visitors with a smile. «Where would you care to start, _Frau und Herren_?»

«I don't understand,» one of the civilian males started to protest in bewilderment, but the woman cut him off.

«I wish to see the Punishment Cells,» she demanded in a no-nonsense voice.

«_Gnädige Frau_, that is a Problem, for we do not have 'Punishment Cells' here. There is no 'Cooler'. I _can_ show you our closest Equivalent, though. If you would come this way?» Jim started off towards the compound, the other Hounds loosely surrounding the visiting Swiss and Germans.

The woman hustled over and grabbed Brewster's arm, stopping him in his tracks. «What do you mean, there are no Cells?»

«_Meine Frau_, I mean just that,» Jim tried to explain gently. «Up until, oh, five or six Weeks ago, this was just a Farm. It was not a Prison Camp, it was just a quiet Spot for _Hauptmann_ Dekker to rest his Men and repair his Equipment. He caught my Men and me, then had some _Englisch Kommandos_ dumped on him – you can meet them also, if you'd like. Then the Rest were dumped on us here. We've been too busy worrying about seeing to decent permanent Shelter for Everyone, and establishing safe general Containment, to worry about Extras like Coolers. A lot of the Guys dumped here were sick and/or injured when they arrived, so we've been dealing with that, too. The Doktors and Medics here have been really busy, but at least _that_ is well under Control.»

«So you are saying that no one is mistreated here?» the other civilian male said uncertainly.

«Not intentionally, Sir,» McKeigh cut in, sensing that these people needed to hear from someone else. "I'm Kevin McKeigh, former Corporal, SAS."

"You are British."

"No Sir, I'm American-born."

"I see… and _he_ is…?"

"James Brewster, former Staff Sergeant, SAS, Sir," Jimmy responded. "We're all former Commandos, except for Lieutenant Wilkes, there. Captain Dekker calls us his Hounds; I'm his Rottweiler."

"And the others?" the same man asked, while the German _Major_ looked like he was going to have apoplexy.

"Not sure what kind of Dogs Dekker thinks they're like; I've never asked him, and I haven't heard him say. He's fair to us, so we watch his back." Jim looked from one face to another, hoping that these people would understand.

«Who's accused him of allowing abuses, anyway?» Jim's question caused an uncomfortable silence to drop suddenly over their group.

«That is Confidential,» the woman huffed, but McKeigh laughed sarcastically.

"Come on Jimmy; _You _know as well as me who started this," McKeigh protested, momentarily forgetting the visiting officials, but Brewster had not.

"I may have very strong suspicions, Kev, but it won't help Dekker any to air the dirty laundry in front of outsiders," Jim reprimanded his friend in a lowered voice. "That's not why we're here."

«_Meine Frau und meine Herren_, I apologize for our unseemly Behavior.» By this time the group had reached the front of the original barn, and Jim waved a hand in its direction as other prisoners cautiously cleared the way, allowing the group to move inside. «This was our original Prison; Punishment now is being tethered in one of the Stalls.» He pointed to one of the straight-stalls, with the tether ring inset below the manger.

«And that is all?!!» the German major demanded, incensed.

Jim looked at him and shrugged. «If someone pushes him hard enough, he just shoots 'em. There's only been two to do _that_ so far, and they really had to work at it. Oh, yeah, and there were three who attacked him; they're all buried out back, along with several who died from their Wounds, or Sickness shortly after being brought here. Dekker's Medical Staff did everything they could to try to save those Men, but the Authorities that had' em first didn't seem to care if their Prisoners lived or died.»

«So basically, Sergeant…» the woman began, but Brewster cut here off.

«Please, _Frau_ Schoenbeck, just 'Jimmy'. I'm not fighting this War any more; I'm Dekker's now, not the Army's.»

«Very well, Jimmy. You are saying that there _is_ no Abuse here.» She studied him carefully.

«Yes Ma'am, that's what I'm saying,» Jim confirmed. «There could have been; _unser Hauptmann's_ Troops had to watch the Guards who'd been sent here with the Prisoners very carefully at first to prevent it, but most of those Men – the really bad ones – have been transferred out to Front Line Units now, and replaced by decent Men. They won't let the Prisoners 'get away' with anything, but they don't go out of their Way to cause suffering. Not like those Scum who were sent here with the Prisoners, Ma'am.»

«I… see,» she muttered to herself, looking angry now.

«Ilsa?» one of the men questioned, and she grinned at him, a nasty gleam in her eyes.

«_We _are being used, Franz, and I do not like that. We do not have Time to be wasted on Someone's petty Vendetta. _That_ is what I am seeing here.

«Is that not so, Jimmy?» she turned suddenly on Dekker's man.

«That's how we see it, Ma'am,» he replied evenly. «The _Hauptmann_ and his Men are Combat Troops – decorated Veterans all – and all honorable Men. We're treated with Respect here, as a defeated Enemy, so long as we obey the Rules. But perhaps you'd prefer to speak to these Others? _We're_ known to be Dekker's, although we won't lie even for him.»

«_Ja_, that would be best,» the quiet man inserted, then turned to the nearest POW, who tried to back away with a nervous look at the Hounds.

Jimmy just sighed. "Steve, the _Kommandant_ sent orders: you're to answer all questions to the best of your ability. No one's gonna ask for any secrets from before you were taken. That goes for all of you. Dekker doesn't feel like he's got anything to hide. And he doesn't want you to say something just because you think it's what he'd want to hear. Tell 'em what you really think, okay? They're Swiss: Red Cross."

He switched to German and turned to the accompanying officer. «_Herr Major_, perhaps you would be so good as to step over here?» Jimmy indicated a tree standing about 20 yards from the barn. «That way no one will feel like they _can't_ say what they want; it's why _Hauptmann_ Dekker didn't come in with us, after all. No one will hurt your Charges, the rest of my Guys will make sure of that.»

The _Heer_ major bristled a bit, then calmed when he realized that this… what _was _this man's status, anyway?.... eh, this prisoner, was also staying clear. They stood in the shade; within moments a stool had been brought over for the _Offizier_, although Jim remained standing. Finally the German could stand the silence no longer. «You do this often?» he queried, trying to keep the disdain he felt out of his voice.

Brewster looked down at him, his expression neutral. «I do whatever my _Hauptmann_ needs me to do, _Herr Major_. That changes with the Circumstances. My Chain-of-Command, however, remains constant. Same for the rest of my Guys. We rise or fall with Dekker, however this War ends.»

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

August 8th, 1942

Somewhere in the Ukraine

The patrol had inserted from Czechoslovakia, and had penetrated the front lines, which had advanced quite far into the Ukraine already. Their orders had definitely been odd – not that they hadn't seen odd orders before this. But, they were German soldiers, and would follow their orders to the end, and so the double-strength squad was cautiously observing the Russian supply depot at the railhead, more especially the livestock yards. Yes, those pitiful beasts down there were definitely from the Russian Army – sort of. And no, they wouldn't be stealing the animals from some poor farmers that needed them – the Russian army had already done that. Though why High Command wanted workhorses stolen from the enemy defied all logic…

No self-respecting German farmer would ever allow any animal of his to deteriorate to the condition of those abused, starved creatures. The _Leutnant_ commanding the squad felt a righteous anger burn to be loosed on the soulless brutes that could treat any animal so. His men would have no trouble 'liberating' them, for security here was incredibly poor. Once night fell, it would be child's play to penetrate –

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden flurry of activity around the stockpens. Nine well-conditioned horses were being driven into the area by a group of loud, rough-looking men in filthy uniforms, with two milk cows led behind. A bawling calf followed close behind the younger-looking of the cows. An officer in an ill-fitting uniform, drawn by the noise, came out of the main depot building to look over the livestock. The watching Germans couldn't hear what was said, but a knife was drawn across the throat of the calf to the laughter of the six men at the depot. That carcass was left lying in the dirt. The officer then pointed out one young horse, perhaps a two-year-old. This animal was caught and led out from the rest.

The _Leutnant _couldn't believe his eyes when the Russian officer drew his pistol and walked over to the trusting animal's head. He would not stand for this!

«**Fire!**» he yelled to his men, himself taking great satisfaction in putting a bullet between the eyes of the slovenly Russian before that fine horse could be slaughtered. It panicked at the noise and bolted, but it didn't go far, and quickly returned to its herd. The Russian soldiers, _if_ they could be considered such, fell like the pigs they were, without a single returned shot. «Quickly, check the Depot for anyone else!» the _Leutnant_ ordered as he led the way in. But the place was now empty of life, save for the milling horses and the tied cows. Poorly packed crates of ammunition were piled haphazardly in the decrepit storeroom; rotting sacks of produce were heaped under an open shed-roof. The _Leutnant_ looked at the waste in disgust, then headed over to check out the livestock himself.

«Do you want me to put those old Nags down?» the senior squad-_Feldwebel_ asked, indicating the seven old workhorses that now stood, heads down, at one side of the holding pen. «The Others look much better.»

«No, _those_, or some like them, were what we were sent to find,» the _Leutnant_ replied, regret in his voice. «They are not so old, just over-worked and half-starved. We will take the Others also, though. _They _are too good to be eaten by such rabid Jackals; I would guess that whoever wanted Horses will be just as glad to have these too. I wonder what Breed they are… Ah well, we must go. Bring the two Cows also, if they can keep up. Gut the Calf and bring it too – tie it over one of the Workhorses; we will eat well, once we are back behind our Lines. Is there any Harness for the Horses?»

There was harness, and two ancient wagons that were nearly useless. There was, however, a small cart in fairly decent shape. They took that, loaded with some captured German ammunition and the calf's carcass, and were gone before anyone even had a hint that anything might be wrong at the depot. The dead had been piled within, the buildings set aflame. By noon the following day they were safely back behind German lines, and the livestock and gear were heading west on a train.

Nothing ran direct anymore, so it took nearly three days to get the horses to Dekker's unit. By then, several knowledgable horsemen had looked over the lighter horses and decided they were Russian Dons, a cavalry breed still much prized out on the steppes for their speed, stamina, and intelligence. While such rail travel could be hard on horses, it gave the heavier workhorses a much-needed rest. Combined with the good hay they were given during transport, they were actually ready for some light work by the time they arrived at the farm in mid-afternoon.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker stood on the back porch and watched as the horses were off-loaded from the trucks that had brought them from the nearest station. He looked over the workhorses, grimacing at their condition. They were _any_thing but impressive. The others, though… He found himself yearning to try them, especially the bay stallion. With the mix of mature and young animals, this was apparently someone's breeding group, confiscated by the uncaring, uncultured Russian army – not that the German forces had been all that respectful of private property when _they'd_ invaded territory. It all depended on the _Offiziere_ in charge, and how much control they had over their men. _He_ had never allowed wanton destruction… His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of two milk cows being unloaded after the last horse.

 "_Hauptmann_ Dekker has a farm…" 

He spun to glare at his Hound, who grinned unrepentantly and continued to sing that childish tune:

"… ee –i – ee –i – oh!"

«_Herr Hauptman_…» Kimmich came over from his closer inspection of the newly arrived livestock. «The Horses have travelled well, but we need to find Someone to milk the Cows now. They are past due to be milked, and are in pain.»

«Find Someone amoung the Prisoners – one of the _Amerikaner_, by preference,» Dekker said, his voice calm and thoughtful. He hadn't considered cows; fresh milk would be good for everyone…

«All you need are Chickens now,» Jimmy said, his voice no longer mockingly playful.

«And where… No, _we_ will have to grow Feed for all these Animals.» Dekker sighed and looked at his man. «I did not mean to get into this so… intensely. All I meant to get were Plowhorses, for fresh Vegetables for the Prisoners. This is already out of Control.»

«That's how these things go, _mein Hauptmann_.» Jim tried not to laugh at the disgusted look on the young Captain's face, but it was hard…

«We now have the Problem of the Season,» Dekker said, his mind coming back to more immediate concerns. «It is late; there will not be much more good Weather. I do not know what we will be able to grow before Winter comes. _I_ am no Farmer.»

«So, why don't we go see what the Locals are growing? There must be _Some_one around here who can give you Advice. Or maybe amoung your Men – they're not all Career Soldiers (_Berufssoldaten_), are they?» Jim asked, trying to be helpful now. «At least we can start getting Hay in for the Horses and Cows. You're gonna need a new Barn or something for them now, too.»

Brewster stepped down from the porch, following after Dekker. Slowly the German approached the horses, no longer able to resist the temptation to examine them closely for himself. Slowly he circled them, checking them over, evaluating them, then Dekker sighed.

«Do you ride, Jimmy?» he asked, not taking his eyes off of the stallion.

«Uhh… sort of, but not really well,» Jim admitted cautiously.

«You will have to learn, you and the rest of the Pack,» Dekker announced, only then looking back at the _Amerikaner._ «There are Saddles here, moved to one of the Sheds when we decided to use the Barn for Prisoners. I will have them cleaned. Find Men to care for the Horses… to be Grooms for them. They will be paid with extra Rations, or better Food when it is available, if their Work is acceptable.

«You are dismissed, for now.» He turned and headed back into the house with a determined stride, not even hearing Jim's response.

Kimmich found his Captain poring over maps of the area when he entered the office an hour later. «Have you noticed, _Herr_ Kimmich, how empty this Region seems to be?» Dekker asked without looking up. «The Farms were prosperous here; there has been no fighting in this Area, but the Farms are all deserted… abandoned. Does that not seem strange to you?» He looked up at his Second-in-Command, seeing a confused expression on his face.

«A whole Region of productive Farmland is now lying empty and going to waste, because Hitler ordered the Jews rounded up. _That _is why this Area is deserted. It is why our Enemies would have been able to come at us undetected, if _we_ had not fortuitously camped here.» Dekker let his disgust show now. «I found some old Records, _Oberleutnant_. This area used to be farmed mostly by Jews, and it was very productive. They were good Farmers here, caring for the Land well. No Pigs, naturally… Still. We must get this Land back into production, somehow.»

«We have made a start, _Herr Hauptmann_,» Kimmich offered cautiously. «I have found Someone to care for the Cows, and for the Horses – Someone who knows how to farm with them. Four of the Prisoners, Sir; all _Amerikaner_.»

«_Gut_. Now we just have to plant Something, and hope that we have enough Time to harvest.» Dekker leaned back in his chair. «Did they suggest what we should plant?»

Now Kimmich smiled. «_Ja_. They said we should have enough Time for some Beets, and some – they said 'late Season' – Beans, whatever those are. And that we should try to find some French Market-Farmers; they would know how to grow Produce well into Winter. I have made Inquiries amoung the Labor Camps, and have two such Men being sent to us here, as Advisors. They should get here Tomorrow, or the next Day. We still have to find Seed, but they should know where to look for that.

«And some good News: some of the Men have found some Farming Equipment – Plows and such – in some of the farther Sheds. They tell me that it seems to be in good Condition, so we will be able to use it.» Kimmich looked very pleased with himself for being able to offer such good tidings.

«_Gut… sehr gut_.» Dekker breathed, leaning further back into his chair. «So, we will be set. All we will have to do is the actual Work, and we have plenty of Men available for that. Next Spring we will plan better. And who knows, perhaps next Year we will not have to feed so many. With any Luck at all, we will have won this War, and we will send the _Engländers_ back to their Island and out of our Hair. Then all we will have to worry about will be the _Amerikanische Gefangeneren_. And those _verdammt_ Russians.»

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

August passed into September, and it became more and more apparent that the war was nearly over. England no longer had the means to send bombers over to pound German cities, the British airfields and factories having long since been turned into rubble by the Luftwaffe. The odd British plane that managed to get into the air was quickly shot down. British submarines were frequently sunk in their pens. No more did Britain rule the seas; the Kriegsmarine had taken it for their own. The only thing that could turn the tide of the war would be the United States coming in on England's side, and that looked even less likely than it had two years earlier. Between the American Bund and the Communist infiltrators, American politics were an acrimonious disaster. The Patriotic Voices of Reason were unable to make themselves heard as unscrupulous politicians made their move to try to annex Canada, as had been suggested to them (unofficially) by Hitler shortly before he'd been eliminated. With England about to go down in defeat, said politicians felt that there would be no one to stop them, and Canada surely wouldn't object all _that_ much; surely they would want protection against Germany, since they'd sided with England against Hitler…

Things were fairly quiet in the eastern regions of the Reich, the war against Russia being far away, the front steadily moving east and north. Over half the Ukraine was already in German hands. They controlled most, if not all of Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, and White Russia, and the German High Command was concentrating on consolidating their hold on this new territory before the winter storms closed down easy access. Without Hitler's manic demands, they had stopped well short of both Moscow and Leningrad rather than fighting through the streets to gain territory that the Germans didn't really want. The sound Military minds now in control knew that resistance in those cities would be terrible.

This left a sense of relative peace through much of German-occupied Poland. Dekker rode every day, checking the sprouting crops and the ripening fruit that he'd discovered near the ruins of a second farm's house just south of his base. At least one of the Hounds accompanied him each time, in furtherance of improving their riding skills, for all six had been given intensive lessons. Five of the common prisoners had attempted various escapes; true to his word Dekker'd had each shot in the act when discovered. No one else had tried it after that, for they finally believed that the young panzer captain had meant what he'd said. He did not make any reprisals on the rest of the prisoner population, so they finally settled down to wait out the end of the war.

Oddly enough, Dekker found that he _liked_ the idea of farming. Oh, not the actual work involved, but the planning part, _that _he liked. More and more he wondered about the ownership of the land that his men occupied, and what would be done with it after the war. Finally he found himself at the Military District Headquarters to inquire about it.

Dekker handed the young blonde secretary a slip of paper. «Who owns the Farms at those Map Coordinates?» he asked, trying to keep his voice pleasant. _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel stifled a snicker as he stood in attendance behind his _Hauptmann's_ back. The girl looked up at the muffled sound, but Dekker ignored his Sergeant. She rose to check the map posted on the nearby side wall, and gave a slight frown.

«I'm sorry, _Herr Hauptmann_,» she began to try to explain. «No one owns that Land; there's a POW Camp there…»

«I _know_ there's a Camp there,» Dekker tried not to snap in frustration, but failed. His temper was wearing thin, since this was the fourth such office that he'd been sent to. He smoothed his voice by sheer willpower before continuing. «_I am the Kommandant_ of that POW Camp. Who is listed as the current Owner of that Land? There are at least four Farms in the Area, all seemingly deserted. I could use that Land, to help support my Prisoners.»

«Oh, I see; I'm sorry, _Herr Hauptmann_, I did not understand before. Ummm…» She rose and went to check a large leather-bound folio resting on a side table. After hunting for several minutes, she went over to a large set of filing cabinets, and started riffling through them, taking notes as she paused over certain records. At last she nodded in satisfaction, and returned to her desk and her patiently waiting visitor. She looked up at him with a large smile.

«There will be no Problem with your using the Land, _Herr Hauptmann_,» she announced with satisfaction. «The Jurek Farm, where your Camp is actually located, was confiscated in 1938, and the old Occupants relocated for Espionage against the _Reich_. The Farm to the south of you, the Kopec Place, was entailed the following Spring along with the Jadomski Farm to the west of you, when the Families were convicted of attempting to incite a rebellion against our glorious _F__ührer_…»

Dekker cut the girl off. «In other Words, they were all Jewish Families, so they were rounded up and sent to Concentration Camps.» His disgust at the pleasure in her voice was evident. «Are any of those Families still alive?»

She flushed a flaming red. «I…I'm sorry, _Herr Hauptmann_… I didn't mean… I was just pleased to find the Information you wanted – some of our Records are so spotty, you see…»

He didn't believe her; neither did Seidel at his back, but Dekker knew he'd have to let this go for now. One last dig: «_Fr__äulein_, the best thing we ever did was taking out that Madman Hitler; he would have destroyed Germany otherwise. He started out well, with good Ideas, but he let his Power corrupt him, and surrounded himself with unscrupulous, power-mad Sycophants. He was _any_thing but glorious at the end – do not idolize him, for he fell far from anything vaguely resembling Glory. There is no Glory or Honor in ordering the slaughter of Women and Children like Animals, no matter that they were not our Equals. The Great know where lies the Line between Reason and Excess.»

He made himself stop and get a grip, then took a deep breath. «I am sorry, _Fr__äulein_; you did not deserve that. But I was raised to see Hitler as nearly a God; it hurts to find that your Deity has Feet of Clay, like the rest of us mere Mortals.»

"No, _Herr Hauptmann_,» she said softly, her eyes lowered prettily. «You are right; many of us do not stop to think. We see and remember only what we want. We should not take Pleasure in the Misfortunes of our Countrymen, even if, as you say, they are Inferior. Many were still loyal to Germany, before…

«But there are three other Farms in your Vicinity lying abandoned also. I suspect that their prior Owners will not be returning once the War ends either; most were sent to Treblinka and Auschwitz.»

Dekker scowled, then sighed again. «I see. Tell me, _Fr__äulein_: how would one go about attempting to claim or acquire such Farms for their own, once the War ends?»

«I believe that there are some forms here, _Herr Hauptmann_, from when a Family might lose a Farm due to Financial Problems. Such Places were then sold – but I suspect that now they will be allotted to Men who return from the fighting. You wish some of these Farms? They will not be easy to resettle; many still want nothing to do with anyplace associated with the Jews, especially around here. They are very superstitious here – many are uneducated Peasants, really – and feel such Places to be Unlucky.»

«Yes, I believe that I _would_ like one or so of these Farms; the Land is good, and so far I find these Farms to be _very '_ lucky' for my Men and me.»

«Very well, _Herr Hauptmann_,» she said, her face lit by another wide smile. «I will get the Papers for you… Ah, here they are. If you would please fill in the top…? _Gut_. Now, how much of this Land do you wish?» She pulled out another book, this one apparently full of regulations. She stopped to look over his uniform.

«Are these all of your Awards and Citations, _Herr Hauptmann_? Do you have any further Honors? It will affect how much Land you may claim.»

He stopped filling out the current form and looked at her, wondering if she was telling the truth or just trying to flatter him. But she saw his indecision and grinned, spinning the book around to show him the relevant passages. This, too, had been something dreamed up by one of Hitler's cronies and signed off into law by the little monster, but Dekker wasn't going to argue. Slowly he began to list his awards and medals, his various citations for bravery, and such. Her eyes widened as she read down the list. What showed on his uniform – what he let the world see – was only a fraction of the total. It was why Lasch hated him so – and why the general was having so hard a time actually destroying him.

«_Herr Hauptmann_… are you sure you wish to leave the Service? The Opportunities…» she was shocked that such a highly-decorated soldier would want to leave to become a farmer.

«I have no intentions of leaving the Army,» he soothed her, a wry look on his face. «I merely wish to provide for any future Family. I will have plenty of Time for this, for Europe is nearly pacified; it is already united in the _Reich_…»

«That is true,» she agreed happily. «So, which do you wish? You could have any, or all; your Rank and Service Record would actually entitle you to much more than these few Farms.»

«No, this is more than enough… in fact – Fritz, would you like one of these for yourself? It would be good to have a Neighbor that I could depend on.»

«I was thinking much the same, _mein Hauptmann_,» the older man replied, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. «I rather like that Farm north of Camp, with the two large Ponds. I always loved to fish, as a boy.»

«That would be _gut_. I wish the Streams; they will water the Pastures well. I will take these four Farms, then; this one here does not… what do they say? Ah, yes: it does not march well with the rest. It is good Land, though… I wonder if Kimmich would want to settle out here?»

«Kimmich?!» Seidel gasped, for he'd thought that Dekker loathed the man.

«Oh, come now, _Oberfeldwebel_,» Dekker chuckled. «He's not so bad, now that he's not trying to stab me in the Back. Besides, his Family doesn't have much; most of what they had was destroyed by the British Bombers: he was from the Alsace, I believe.

«_Fr__äulein_, put this Farm down for _Oberleutnant_ Sigmund Kimmich, if you would. He's seen Action with me on the Eastern Front as my Second-in-Command, and has various other Awards, although I do not remember what without seeing his Records again. That will create a secure Buffer Zone around my Prison Camp, for I fear that we will still have to deal with these Prisoners for quite some Time after we win this War. This way the Land can produce again, and our Civilians will still be protected from potential Escapees… not that any have managed it so far.»

The girl nodded vigorously, then applied herself to the requisite paperwork. This handsome young captain would be a wealthy man in the near future, and seemed to be the type to remember those who helped him. Perhaps he would remember her… She lowered her eyes and smiled shyly as he looked at her, his cold, pale eyes warming.

Dekker knew what the girl was thinking, and laughed to himself. 'Why not?' he thought: a pretty girl to take out to eat, some civilized conversation? It need go no further than that, and it would be nice to spend some time with a nice German girl. He had his safety-release back at camp; this girl should be at no risk, even from Lasch, so long as he did not get too serious with her. So he smiled at her, not realizing how devastating he could be when he set out to charm a girl.

Fritz Seidel chuckled to himself, remembering his _Hauptmann's_ last such conquest: a lovely Gypsy girl called Zaretta that many had chased, but no one but Dekker had caught. Her affair with his Captain, then an _SS-Untersturmführer_ (_Leutnant),_ and still in the _Waffen-SS_, had been the saving of her tribe… It looked like this would go much the same, he thought, as a dinner invitation was extended and accepted for that very evening. Oh, yes; the lovely Katarina was hot on Dekker's trail, though Dekker was bound to be the victor, not her.

The _Oberfeldwebel_ nodded knowingly, accepting his winnings when Dekker returned to base quite late that night, a contented, sated glint in his eyes. That girl hadn't stood a chance, and his _Hauptmann_ wouldn't have had to use any force. Some men were just lucky that way, he supposed. He hoped she would enjoy Dekker while she had him, for Fritz knew that she'd not hold his attention for too long; she was too predatory. But Dekker would have a good fling, taking some of the pressure from his Hounds. Jimmy might even get to sleep alone for a few nights… if Schatze didn't miss her Master too much and join the _Amerikaner_ in his bed instead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

September 29th, 1942

_Stalag_ 384

The Dispatch arrived by special courier in the late afternoon. The man was exhausted, but he could sleep here, for this was his last stop. He had been on the road since shortly after midnight, he and his fellows, and he was eaten up with curiosity. Something big was up, he knew, to need all these dispatches sent out so urgently by hand. But he got the _Kommandant's_ signature as required, and called back to Headquarters in Berlin, confirming that he'd made all his deliveries. Now he could spend the next two days where he was, resting up from his frantic trip.

Dekker sat in his office in shock, reading over the dispatch. It had been close; he knew that. Still, it came as a shock…

«Kimmich! My Office!» he yelled against all proper protocol and common courtesy.

The sound of running feet answered his call, the _Oberleutnant_ bursting into his CO's office without knocking. Kimmich knew that there'd been a courier; whatever could the news have been…? Concern furrowing his brow, he accepted the dispatch that Dekker held out to him, both men speechless.

He had to read it several times to make his mind grasp the words. He sank down into the office's extra chair in shock. He understood now – there was no way to truly prepare for this, even though they'd known for some time now that it was coming…

«I will make the Announcement during Morning _Appell_ on the First, as directed,» Dekker finally found his voice. He shook himself mentally. This did not, after all, mean that his duties were finished; the clean-up afterwards would take a long time. «You will form our Men up outside the Prisoners' Compound, so that all will learn of this at the same Time. I believe that it will be best that way.»

«And your Hounds, _mein Hauptmann_?» Kimmich asked, concerned.

«What of them?» Dekker demanded, looking sharply at his Second-in-Command. «They are mine; they stay with me, no matter what. The _Englisch Kommandos_ are more of a Problem, although I think that _they _will eventually go back to England with the Rest. I doubt they will cause any Trouble.»

«Do you tell Jimmy ahead of Time?»

«No. No one hears of this save yourself, until Thursday Morning,» Dekker decided. «You are the only one beside myself who is to know.»

"_Zu Befehl, mein Hauptmann_." Kimmich stood and saluted, then returned to his own office and the never-ending paperwork, a very thoughtful man now.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They knew that something was up; how not, when their very lives depended on Dekker's moods. But he said nothing, Kimmich said nothing, and everyone else was oblivious. So the Hounds, too, waited, although they knew not for what.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, October 1st, 1942

_Stalag_ 384

The Hounds were up and ready for _Appell_, for they were too tense to sleep. Something, that unknown element in the air, said that today might be the day. For what… ah, now _that_ was the question. But they were all up and dressed, even Brewster, who'd been sent to spend the night down with the others. Perhaps it was that change in the routine, but what ever the reason, all six men were over-ready when a tap came at their door.

It swung open to reveal _Panzerschütze_ Wenigmann, who grinned momentarily upon seeing them up. He sobered somewhat to say "_Unser Hauptmann_ vishes you to _komm für_ inzpeksion _im der_ hallvay."

Jim chuckled. «Good try, Günter, but stick to German. You're mixing your Languages too much.»

«Ach, _you _know what I'm saying, so what Difference does it make?» Wenigmann laughed back. «Best hurry, though; Hauptmann Dekker will be here shortly. You don't want to make him wait.»

«No, that's never a good Idea,» Brewster agreed, leading his men out into the hallway for their own inspection.

They snapped to attention when Dekker entered their hallway, eyes front. Still, Jim could see the barely suppressed grin, and the pride for them in Dekker's eyes when he passed down their line, carefully looking them over. The dissatisfied shake of their keeper's head that followed came as a bit of a surprise, but Brewster wasn't overly concerned.

«This will not do, _meine Hünde_,» he growled, but he still did not worry them. His scowl did not reach his eyes as he singled Brewster out. «Do you still claim to belong to the _Englisch_ Army?»

«No, _mein Hauptmann_,» Jim answered for all of them. «We are yours; you know this.»

«One would not know it to look at you,» Dekker rebuked his men. «Get out of those Clothes before I throw you back in with the Rest, and into some proper Uniforms.»

They stripped down to their skivvies on the spot, shivering slightly in the now chill morning air. Fall was definitely making its coming felt, with winter not far behind. A couple of _Gefeiters _approached, carrying piles of… they _looked_ like uniforms of some sort, Jim noted in surprise, but not ones that he was familiar with. The shirts, button-fronted and cut per _Heer_ regulations, were black instead of white or grey. The pale grey trousers they were given resembled work pants, although they fit better than the normal ones. Black tunics without any piping or rank tabs completed the outfits. These were cut like the old SS panzer jackets: double-breasted, short-waisted and open-collared; they were actually comfortable, unlike the high, tight collars on the standard _Heer_ uniforms.

Jim pulled his jump boots back on, and fell back into line. The tunic pulled oddly; he found himself altering his posture slightly to accommodate the unfamiliar fit. He could see his companions doing likewise, and realized that they now stood like the German troops did. He grinned despite himself.

Dekker prowled the line, looking his Hounds over with no little satisfaction. The new uniforms looked good on them, he thought. It might be better for every day wear if the trousers were black also, though… perhaps just a darker gray? That would not show the dust as much as black would… he would consider it. For now, though, this served his purpose adequately. He let his grin show now, feeling wicked. They had not been issued ties to wear with the shirts, intentionally.

«For Dress and Formal Occasions,» he announced, his voice soft, «You will close the top Button of the Shirt, but pull your Dog-Collars out into view so they lay under the Collar of the Shirt. Not of the Tunic. _Versteht_? You will do so now.» He watched as they complied. Only _Oberleutnant_ Wilkes seemed at all uncomfortable, though he did not hesitate to obey.

Dekker examined them once more. «_Now_ you look good,» he said, pleased with the effect _and_ with the men themselves. «We will have the Opportunity to - how do you say - tweak them? - later on. But you cannot be mistaken now.

«Outside, now, for _Appell_. There will be another Formation at 0900 also. Go.» He watched as they broke ranks and headed for the door, moving well in their new uniforms. Ah, yes; Life _was_ Good.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They caused quite a stir amoung the prisoners in the compound when they lined up outside in their new uniforms. They'd expected this, and ignored the odd comment and cat-call directed their way. Dekker scowled momentarily, but forced himself to relax and let it pass. Instead, he cultivated patience as the men were counted, then moved forward to address them.

"_Guten Morgen_, gentlemen," he called out, catching their attention, for he was not in the habit of addressing them thusly. "Today iz the day ve havf all been vaiting _für_. Today the Var iz offichially ovfer. I havf been informed that Englandt _und_ her alliez are offichially surrendering _diese Morgen…_ thiss morning. You vill all azzemble _heir_ again chust bevfor nine uvf the clock, _und_ ve vill allow you to hear _der_ BBC's broadcast at that time. _Und_ zo you vill not havf to take _my_ vord on thiss.

"You are dizmizzed _für_ now." Then Dekker turned and left amidst shocked silence, heeled by his "Hounds". Behind him he could hear pandemonium breaking out.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The guards brought a radio out and set it on a table in the prisoners' compound. They connected the speakers to it, ran power out, and turned it on at 0845. Then they left. The POWs looked at each other in shock, uncertain what as going on. These puzzled looks turned to glares as Davidson, in his new black uniform tunic, walked across the yard and was admitted to the compound.

"Hey guys, I'm just the messenger," he warned as one or two started to step threateningly in his direction. "The Captain wanted to be certain that you knew this was no trick. You can tune in to any station you want. He said the announcement was supposed to start at 0900, and repeat for an hour on all German stations. The BBC is supposed to give it at 0900 also, but he didn't know how long it would repeat, if at all. But it's up to you guys to tune it in, so you know _he _isn't trying to pull a fast one on you. If it's a hoax, he's as much a victim as you."

"Yeah? An' wot d'you get out o' this, _mate_?" one voice snarled viciously.

"Me?" Davidson looked at the men who now nearly surrounded him. "I get fed, an' I don't get the crap beat out of me. I _don't_ get asked any militarily sensitive questions, because Dekker doesn't care what I might know – which is absolutely nothing anyway. I was a private, guys, 'Cannon Fodder' _he_ called me. Primarily, I get work to do, an' I _don't_ get locked up in a cage for the rest of my life. He coulda just shot me as a Commando; he _coulda_ done almost anything to me, but he didn't – despite knowing I'm a Jew.

"It may not be much, but I got a home now; something _you_ guys – most of you, anyway—never lost. But you better find a station, or you'll miss the broadcast." Then he turned on his heels and stalked away, stiff with outrage.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday, October 5th, 1942

Stalag 384

The summons came with Monday's Dispatches, leaving Dekker cold and wondering if Lasch was finally going to destroy him. "**Report to Berlin ASAP, bringing with you those Prisoners commonly referred to as your 'Hounds'. Kimmich to be left in charge. By Order of the High Command and the Inspector Generals' Office**." And it was signed by one _Generalleutnant _Friedrich Sebastian Mannheim.

Like a man going to his execution, Dekker rose and sent for his orderly, sending Oskar running to pack his _Hauptmann's_ bags. _Gefreiter_ Jäger was sent to inform the Hounds, and to bring the staff car around. Delay would not help his case, Dekker thought morosely as he straightened his desk, then went to notify Kimmich.

They were on the road to Berlin before noon, a lunch packed to eat on the road. The staff car was crowded, but not as badly as it would have been had Dekker brought any of his troops with him. But all he had was the Hounds with him, for they would take no one's orders but his, and would live or die with him. And Dekker couldn't help wondering if Kimmich had truly changed allegiances, or if he were even now apprising Lasch of his coming.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At mid-afternoon _Gefreiter_ Jäger appeared in Kimmich's office doorway. «_Herr Oberleutnant_? There is a Call for _Hauptmann_ Dekker, from Berlin,» the young man nervously announced. He knew that something was going on, something bad, but he didn't know what, and it was unsettling him badly.

Kimmich looked up and sighed, pushing back from his desk. «You'd best route it to me, then,» he said, obvious reluctance in his voice. «I'll see if I can handle it.»

«_Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant_,» Jäger responded, saluting crisply and returning to his desk to do as directed, secure in the knowledge that, whatever followed, _he_ had done his duty properly.

Another sigh, then Kimmich picked up the phone.

«_Panzer Battalion und Stalag _384_, Oberleutnant_ Kimmich _heir_; how can I assist you, Sir?»

There was a momentary silence at the other end, as if Kimmich were not the one expected, then… «This is _Leutnant_ Weber, _Generalleutnant_ Mannheim's Aide. Is _Hauptmann_ Dekker there, Sir?»

The voice was young and fairly uncertain, and Kimmich couldn't quite stifle his grin. «_Hauptmann_ Dekker has already left for Berlin, _Leutnant_ Weber. I am his Second-in-Command; perhaps I can assist you?»

«Well, Sir, it's about _Hauptmann_ Dekker's Trip to Berlin…»

«I told you, _Leutnant_ Weber: _Hauptmann_ Dekker has already left. Have his Orders been changed? I can perhaps have him turned back at one of the Checkpoints.» Kimmich was growing irritated now.

«No, _Herr Oberleutnant_, it's not that,» Weber hastily assured the older _Offizier. _«_General _Mannheim just wished to know if _Hauptmann_ Dekker needed any special Arrangements or Facilities to contain his Hounds. We had hoped to have whatever he needed ready for him when he arrived.»

«One Minute, _Herr Leutnant_,» Kimmich cut in. «I am confused. It begins to sound as if _Hauptmann _Dekker is in no Trouble after all. Is this the Case?»

«_Herr Oberleutnant, Hauptmann_ Dekker is in no Trouble that I am aware of,» Weber responded, his voice sounding certain now.

«Ah, _g__u__t… sehr g__u__t_!» Kimmich breathed in relief. «We had thought… But no Matter. As for the Hounds, _Hauptmann_ Dekker will just need a Room or two for Quarters for them; there are six of them. I do not believe that there will be any Trouble from them – not any that _they_ will start, that is. They are quite good at ending Trouble that finds them. The 'Pack Leader' stays in his Quarters with the _Herr Hauptmann_ at Night as a Bodyguard; I believe that he will just require a Pallet of some sort near the Foot of _Hauptmann_ Dekker's Bed.

«They will not need to be kept under Lock and Key, or under any type of special Guard, for they will not run. You had best give Warning though, that they are all very protective of '_their Captain'_, especially the Pack Leader, who is very much like a Rottweiler in that regard.» Kimmich chuckled briefly in memory of his own run-in with Jimmy. «Oh, and _Leutnant_ Weber? Be warned that they actually take a certain Pride in being likened to Guard Dogs… But, you will see.»

«I have seen some of them already, _Herr Oberleutnant_, though only from a distance; I was with _Generalleutnant Mannheim_ when he came to inspect your Facilities back in late July. We were just not sure how they would be, away from their familiar Camp. Thank you for you Assistance, Sir.»

«Glad to have helped. _Ende_.» And Kimmich hung up the phone, wondering just what was going on here.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Berlin streets were still overflowing with the air of celebration, civilians streaming along the walkways. Some – no, many, truth be told – were staggering along drunkenly. Dekker wondered when they'd started their drinking this day… or had they been on one big, continuous binge since the end of the War?

He shook his head, trying to swallow his irritable grumbling, and directed Perelli through the streets towards the old SS headquarters on _Prinz Wilhelmstra__ße_. He fully expected to be arrested there, but his only other choice was to run… and there was nowhere in Europe, now, to run to. Already there was too much traffic to maneuver easily or fast; he'd expected less traffic this late in the day. But they persevered, and eventually Perelli pulled the big staff car over and parked where instructed.

Dekker took a deep breath to brace himself, then gazed around at his Hounds. «You will all stay here in the Car, except for Jimmy; _he_ will come with me. If Soldiers come for you, you will go with them quietly. Is that understood?» He tried to sound severe, but his worry showed too clearly in his voice.

«Don't worry about us, _Herr Hauptmann_,» McKeigh tried to soothe the young captain. «We won't start any Trouble. There's no way to win, here, an' none of us likes Bruises.» He actually got the ghost of a smile from Dekker for this, but the German quickly sobered again.

«Very well. We should know something fairly quickly. Come, Jimmy; waiting will make this no better.» He turned then, and led the way into the building, not even looking to see if his _Kommando_ was following. He could feel the curious looks that came his way, and knew from those that Brewster was right where he belonged.

A battle-scarred Veteran sat at the Reception/Information counter. Professionalism oozed from him as he studiously ignored Dekker's shadow. «How can I assist you, _Herr Hauptmann_?» he asked, his voice gravelly from the damage to his throat.

Without a word Dekker handed over his Orders and waited, trying to hide his concern. The _Hauptfeldwebel_ looked them over and nodded. He reached for his phone, spoke a few words to whoever answered it, then looked at the man who stood so quietly at Dekker's heels.

«This Man is one of your 'Hounds', _Herr Hauptmann_?» he asked, his voice betraying nothing. At Dekker's confirmatory nod, he looked back down at the Orders briefly, then his eyes shifted to hold Dekker's gaze. «He is the only one…?»

Dekker's grin bore no relation to amusement. «There are five more, waiting out in my Staff Car. They will come in when they are sent for. I will warn you now: they are not accustomed to Abuse of any kind.»

The _Hauptfeldwebel_ possessed a matching non-grin. «It is never a good Idea to try to beat another Man's Dog.» He turned and gave a quiet order to a nearby guard, then shifted his attention back to Dekker as footsteps echoed up the corridor behind him. He glanced briefly over his shoulder, nodding.

«This is _Leutnant _Weber, _Generalleutnant_ Mannheim's Aide. He will take you and yours to the General. Good Day, _Herr Hauptmann_.»

Dekker stood tall and straight, letting none of his disquiet show as he waited for the rest of his Hounds to be brought to him. The young _Abwehr_ _Leutnant_ who came to escort him looked familiar…

«He came out with that _General_ this Summer.» Jim's voice was low as he provided the identification. A very slight nod indicated that Dekker had heard his 'Rottweiler', so Jimmy stepped back a pace and resumed his designated position.

«Good evening, _Herr Hauptmann_. Would you please come this way to your Quarters? The rest of your Men and your Baggage will be brought to you there.» The young _Leutnant_ had a pleasant voice and showed no discomfort in Jimmy's presence; Dekker gave him mental points for that. He inclined his head in acquiescence, and fell into step beside his guide.

They moved deep within the large building, finally heading into what appeared to be living quarters of some sort. At last Weber stopped by a door near the end of their current corridor. He opened the door, then stepped aside for Dekker to precede him. A simply furnished sitting room lay before them, with a bedroom visible past an open inner doorway.

«There are Quarters for your Men in two other Rooms, _Herr Hauptman_. I hope that these will suit you and your Bodyguard.» The young _Leutnant's_ voice was level and non-judgmental. He waited patiently, showing no surprise when Jimmy pushed past both of them to prowl quickly through the offered quarters. A quick look at Dekker showed Weber that this was expected behavior; this information was filed away, to be told to his _General _later.

Dekker relaxed at Jimmy's nod. «These will be more than adequate, _Herr Leutnant_… Weber, was it? But I would see the other Rooms, if you would be so good?»

«Certainly, _Herr Hauptmann_,» Weber responded. «They are the last two Sets of Quarters, right this way...» He backed out into the corridor and opened the two doors at the end of the hall, opposite each other. The room beside his was fairly small, and contained only two beds, but the one across the hall was another small suite, with a sitting room and two small bedrooms. Each had two beds in it, which raised one of Dekker's eyebrows in question.

Weber chuckled. «We were told that your Bodyguard sleeps in your Room with you, but we did not know if the Duty was traded off among all the Men. There is a Pallet in your room, Herr Hauptmann, but this way each Man has his own Bed if they _do_ share the Duty. They are close enough to hear if you need them, and close enough for _you_ to watch _them,_ if needed.» Now a touch of amusement could be heard in the _Leutnant's_ voice, which drew a smile to the corners of Dekker's mouth.

«This Arrangement will work very well, _Leutnant_ Weber,» he assured his escort. «I gather that we will be here for some Time…»

«_General_ Mannheim anticipates at least a Week, _Herr Hauptmann_. I hope that this will not be too great an Inconvenience?» Weber let his concern show now.

«My Second can handle Things very well; he is quite competent,» Dekker answered with no hesitation. His concerns were easing; he was apparently in no trouble, for these were clearly _not_ quarters for someone under arrest. It was a puzzle, but no doubt he would soon learn what was going on. But his attention was caught by the sound of a number of men approaching. He tensed, as did his Hound, until the men rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor. Then he could see that they were the rest of his Hounds, with all their baggage, escorted by a nervous-looking _Soldat_.

Dekker nodded at his men as they stopped and came to attention before him. «_Gut_. Put my Bags in there,» he pointed at his room, «And Jimmy's over there across the way. Two of you, take that end Room; the rest of you go in with Jimmy.»

With heel-clicks and chorused «_Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann_,» the Pack split into the indicated rooms with no discussion, to Weber's amazement. The only one still there with Dekker was the one he'd heard called 'Jimmy'.

«If you and your Men are hungry, I can show you to the Mess, _Herr Hauptmann_,» Weber offered. «_General_ Mannheim will see you first thing in the Morning. I will come to escort you at 0730, right after Breakfast. We have already arranged to feed your Men in the Mess; we have been told that they will not need Escort or Guard while they are here. Do you confirm this, Sir?»

«They will go only where they are told they may,» Dekker confirmed, his eyes growing cold now. «Where did this Information come from, if I might ask?»

«I… called your Base yesterday afternoon, to see if you required any special Accommodations for your Men. You had already left, but _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich said that these Arrangements would be adequate. Was he in error, _Herr Hauptmann_?» Weber could sense that something was not right here, but just what was uncertain. He found it even more puzzling when Dekker relaxed again at his explanation.

«No, this is all fine. Dinner would be good; I find that I am actually hungry now.

«_H__ü__nde, kommen_. We will go and eat,» he called , not that loudly, but both doors popped open, and the _Kommandos_ reemerged.

It was an odd arrangement, Weber thought, but the Prisoners moved well and seemed to trust their Captor. He noted this too, and wondered what Mannheim would think of all this, when he reported to him this evening after supper.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mannheim, apparently, was not one of those high-ranking _Offiziere_ who felt that they had to keep one waiting to prove their own importance. Weber left the young _Panzer Kommander_ in an outer office and went in to tell his _General_ that Dekker had arrived. Within moments he was out again, trying to contain a wide smile.

«_Mein General_ will see you now, _Herr Hauptmann_; would you please go in?» Weber held the inner door open for Dekker, and closed it quietly once the young _Hauptmann_ had entered.

Mannheim showed his guest unexpected old-world courtesy, rising to greet Dekker even though he was of a much lower rank. «Good morning, _Hauptmann_ Dekker,» he greeted, returning the salute that Dekker gave. «Be seated, please. We have much Ground to cover, many Questions to be answered. First, though, would you care for anything? _Kaffe_, perhaps, or Tea?»

«No, thank you, Sir,» Dekker answered, feeling more confused than ever. «I just had Breakfast…»

«Very well; we shall get started then. I require you to tell me everything you can about your experiences with _Generaloberst_ Lasch…»

His head was swimming by the time he got back to his temporary quarters for a lunch break. Jimmy was concerned at first, until he heard the news: Lasch was under arrest, to be tried via Court-Martial for treason. Dekker, and others, had been called in to give testimony against him. And Dekker was given to understand that the trial itself was a mere formality, that so much evidence had been gathered against Lasch that the result was a foregone conclusion: his coffin was already ordered for him…

Still, Dekker would be required to stay until all the evidence had been seen, all testimony heard, which meant a week at least. But there would be compensation, for him and for the others, for wrongful harm, slander, and the intentional, malicious sabotage of their careers. And once the verdict was in, he, Dekker, would be a _Major_ due to his exemplary service record, pay retroactive for six months.

He would have to be available all the rest of that day, in case the Officer for the Prosecution had further questions, or required any clarification, but then he would be free until at least Sunday. Free, in Berlin, with _money. _What a concept!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By Monday evening, everyone's nerves had settled. The Hounds lounged around their sitting room, carefully staying out of trouble. Jim Brewster finally allowed himself to relax. He'd half expected the German troops to harass them, but everyone was pretty much ignoring them here at Headquarters. Sure, they'd gotten lots of strange looks when Dekker took them out on the streets to be fitted for 'good' uniforms, but it went no further than that. They were even going to their meals unescorted now.

Jim leaned back and grinned as he laid his cards down on the table. The others groaned and slapped their hands down, laughing in their defeat. It was a peaceful evening, with a radio playing music softly in the background. They were left to amuse themselves; Dekker was at some sort of social function for Lasch's victims, since they were all gathered together for the trial. Jim understood from the _Hauptmann_ that there were more 'victims' than anyone had previously suspected. This first day of the trial had been quite a revelation for Dekker…

They all looked up at the knock at their door, but it was Wilkes who got up to answer it. He was the closest, having opted for a book instead of the poker game, and none of them stood on their old ranks anymore, really. He was grinning, relaxed – until the door swung back to reveal their visitor. Wilkes stepped back sharply, clearing the door as their visitor advanced, and called the room to attention out of old habit. And out of old habit the Hounds all sprang to their feet and straightened as the _Abwehr_ general came in and looked them over.

And all of their salutes came in unison, save for Wilkes' a beat later.

The general waved a casual salute back, a smile in his eyes if not on his lips. "At ease, Gentlemen," he finally said as they remained at attention before him. They relaxed as far as Parade Rest; a minute frown creased his brow before he realized… "Ah, no. Uhm – 'As you were', I believe I should have said. I am _General_ Mannheim; I believe you know me by sight, if not by name. Yes?"

His English was excellent, Jim thought briefly. "We know you, Sir," he answered for all of them, his tone courteous as they eased their stances further. "How may we assist you? _Unser Hauptmann_ is not in this evening; I'm not sure where he is, exactly, Sir."

Mannheim's gaze settled on Brewster. "You are the one he refers to as his 'Packleader', yes?"

"Actually, Sir, he calls me his Rottweiler," Jim corrected with a careful grin. "I'm Brewster, former Staff Sergeant. _Hauptmann_ Dekker calls me 'Jimmy'."

"And these others probably call you 'Sir' behind your back. Make them known to me," the general ordered, his voice casual as he watched this 'Jimmy's' reaction.

"Sir, I believe they just call me 'Sarge'. Since I wasn't an officer." Brewster could feel his smile growing wider. There was something about this general that put you at ease, he thought as he made the introductions.

Mannheim nodded and casually strolled to a chair. "So," he said as he sat. "Tell me what you think of your _Hauptmann_ Dekker, and of all of this."

There was dead silence at first, then nervous shifting of feet.

"Umm, Sir?" Jimmy cautiously ventured. "I'm not sure we understand what you want to know. _Hauptmann_ Dekker is… well, he seems to be a very competent Officer. His men would follow him through all the fires of Hell, Sir. So would we, now. He… acts, rather than over-thinking a situation. What might look like a hasty action is most likely carefully considered well in advance, his mind works that fast. He's extremely paranoid, with apparently just cause. He doesn't abuse prisoners… Is that what you want to know, Sir?"

"And your own situation?" Mannheim pressed.

"…could have been a lot worse. We've nowhere else to go, and for myself, I'd rather not die in a barbed-wire cage. We didn't _have_ to swear to him; he'd probably have thrown us back in with the rest of the POWs if we'd asked him to, once the fighting was over."

"And if you _Could _go back now?"

"Won't happen. I can't anyway, I've already sworn, and I doubt he'd release me from my oath. Besides," Jim added, a thoughtful look in his eyes, "I'm not sure I'd _want_ to go back, if half of what we've been hearing is true. It just doesn't sound like the same country it was when we left."

"So you are happy with your situation?"

"Sir, what's the point of this?" McKeigh cut in. "We can't go home, we're not welcome in England, so we've made the best of the situation. _Happy?_ Not really. Willing to tolerate an improving situation? Definitely. It wasn't a hard choice, since _Hauptmann_ Dekker treated us pretty decent, all things considered. So why all the interest?"

"Yeah," Perelli added his two-cents' worth, not as obnoxious as usual in the face of a general. "It's not like we'd go runnin' around, blowin' stuff up behind Dekker's back or nuthin'. I mean, you don't bite the hand that feeds ya, unless you're a real jerk."

"So you are all in for the… long haul, I believe you say?"

"Bought and Paid For, General," Brewster growled, tiring of the constant prodding.

"_Gut_. That is what I wanted to know. Do you think others of your Countrymen might feel the same way?"

That question stopped them for a moment. "General, I'm not sure you really understand," Jim cautiously tried again. "_Hauptmann_ Dekker _could_ have just shot us out of hand. We were Commandos, caught in the act as we tried to insert in-country. The _Kommandobefehl_ has not been repealed; we knew that. He could have tortured us. He could have done a lot of things; instead he fed us, kept us dry and reasonably unharmed. He just secured us so we couldn't cause any trouble. We didn't 'come cheap', Sir. No one else will either."

"But, you _are_ Mercenaries, of a sort," Mannheim was thoughtful now himself. "For the right price, loyalty _could_ possibly be bought… or _**earned**_, rather. And once given?" He looked at the Hounds with a raised eyebrow.

Jim shrugged. "That depends on the man. You got someone in particular in mind, _Herr General_?"

Mannheim blinked, then chuckled. "I am… considering one. Blame yourselves if I do try it – you and your _Hauptmann_ gave me the idea."

"Okay, Sir," Brewster laughed. "We'll consider ourselves blamed. Pick your man with care, but most of us have a pretty strong sense of Honor. We wouldn't be here, otherwise."

"That is true," Mannheim agreed, his eyes seeming to lose focus as he lost himself in thought. Then he sighed and rose. "I thank you gentlemen for your candor; I will leave you to the rest of your evening in peace. _Gute Nacht, meine Herren_."

"_Gute Nacht, Herr General,_" they responded enchorus, and then he was gone.

"Do we tell Dekker?" Connolly asked cautiously.

"I will, tonight," Jim declared, then turned back to the table. "Whose turn to deal?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday, October 18th, 1942

_Stalag_ 384

_Major_ Johann Dekker gazed at the pile of paperwork waiting on his desk, and actually laughed. His usually pristine desktop was covered in piles of the stuff; one good shake would cause an avalanche of paper. It went without saying that Kimmich had done all that he could to keep the piles down; he could just imagine what the _Oberleutnant's_ desk looked like also. Running a POW camp, it seemed, generated _way_ more paperwork than a Panzer Battalion, as hard to believe as that was.

Granted, he _had_ been gone two weeks. Kimmich had said nothing but welcome back; still, he must be green with envy that Dekker had had nearly two weeks, most of it free time, in Berlin. To his great surprise he had actually enjoyed himself, now that he no longer had to worry about Lasch twisting everything he did into something that could get him killed – or worse. He had gone to several parties and gatherings. He had even gone to the theater once; he'd brought his _H__ü__nde_ with him for that, to the dismay of many seated near them. Now, though, he was back to work, and actually eager for it.

He had not bothered to go and view Lasch's execution. Oh, he'd been 'invited', but he'd carefully explained that he did not _enjoy_ killing or viewing dead bodies, and for all intents and purposes, Lasch had been technically dead from the moment that sentence had been passed on him. Dekker carried enough demons in his soul; he did not need to add vengeance to that load. He only stayed long enough to hear that sentence had been carried out, his Hounds using that time to pack up the Staff car, fuel it, and ready them all to leave.

So now he was back, money in his accounts from six months back-pay as a _Major_, new braided shoulder-boards on his uniform, and replacements, both men and machines, promised to arrive soon to bring his command up to proper strength. Little could make him happier at the moment. He took a sip of his _Kaffe_, the real thing, purchased in bulk in Berlin for all the mess, and wondered which stack to begin on first. With a sigh he shook his head and rose, carrying his cup back out of the office. He dropped it off in the kitchen with a smile for his cook, then headed out the back door of the old farmhouse.

Within ten feet he felt the expected presence at his back as he crossed the yard towards the Prison Compound.

«_Guten Morgan_, Jimmy,» he said, not looking around. Dekker was usually an early riser, but his Rottweiler had actually beaten him up this morning, and had been nowhere in sight when Dekker had arisen.

«_Morgan, Herr Major_… That's gonna take some Time to get used to, you realize, Sir,» the ex-commando laughed at his Superior.

«I am sure that you will cope, you _and_ the Rest,» Dekker laughed back. Nothing could spoil this day, it would seem. «Anything that I should be aware of, that I was not told already?»

"Hmmm." Brewster followed in silence for several steps, then chuckled. «You're gonna be a _Vater_?» he offered, more for effect than anything else. And he got a reaction, right enough.

«**What**?!!» Dekker gasped, spinning around to face his man.

«That's the Word _I_ heard. That little Katarina was here last Week with her Papa, looking for you. They never even got as far as the Office, or _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich; apparently _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel headed them off, gave them a few of the Facts of Life – you _don't_ plan on marrying the Girl, do you? – and suggested that they'd best leave quietly. Kimmich doesn't know about this, so he couldn't tell you when we got in last Night.»

«_Schei__ße_.» Dekker paused, then gave a crooked grin. «I doubt that this is the first, and it probably won't be the last. Now that Lasch is dead, I can at least _claim_ my Children, even if I do not marry the Mothers. I _will_ see that she has what she needs so the Child will be healthy.»

«I don't think she can ask for much more,» Brewster agreed, falling back into step as Dekker started walking again. «I know you; you wouldn't have promised that Girl _**anything**_, lest Lasch have something to get to you through.

«How many you figure you have, anyway?»

The German pursed his lips thoughtfully, slowing his pace. «I am not sure… but I doubt that there could be more than two or three Others. At least, not that could be proven. I did not stay with anyone else long enough to be sure it could be mine. And now that I think about it… One, at least, is very likely. I will have to check and see, when I next have Time.» He cast a wry look at his Hound; they both knew how likely _that_ would be.

«Any other Surprises?»

«Nah. The Natives are a bit restless, the older Cow looks like she's gonna have a Calf, the younger dun Mare is lame again, but that's it.» Dekker nodded his head: information accepted.

«And the Crops?» _This_, Dekker was worried about, especially after his Hound sighed.

«We'll lose a lot of it if we get too hard of an early Frost, _mein Major_. I wonder if we can set up some Greenhouses, or something like that.»

Again Dekker stopped to look over at his Hound. «And _where_ would we put something like **that**?» he growled in exasperation.

«Alongside the Barns?» Brewster offered hesitantly. «We have to heat the Barns anyway; what if we put Greenhouses along the South side of the Barns? We can leave the Windows over the Stalls open so the Heat can reach them. They wouldn't have to be all _that_ warm for Peas and Beans, just enough that the Frost doesn't get them. Getting the Glass will be more of a Problem, I'd think.»

«You don't make things simple, do you Jimmy?» Dekker complained with a sigh. «Let's go check on our restless Natives, shall we?»

«_Jawohl, mein Major_,» was the laughing reply as both men headed for the compound once more.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With Dekker back in camp, the threatened trouble didn't materialize. He had too great a reputation for solving Disciplinary Problems with a bullet from his Mauser pistol – the weapon a carry-over from his _Waffen-SS_ days, since most _Heer_ _Offiziere_ were issued the smaller-caliber Lugar pistol. Slowly the mountain of paperwork on Dekker's desk diminished, despite daily additions. He rode, continuing his Hounds' equestrian education, until eventually he was satisfied that they could stay on through almost anything a horse could do, short of its actually going down. Life was good, although everyone knew that it couldn't last.

The biggest problem, Dekker found, was maintaining morale amoung his English prisoners. It was now mid-November, first frost had come and gone. Repatriation had begun; the few French that he'd held, save for the two who'd come from Labor camps, had already been shipped out. Granted, there hadn't been many of them… The Belgians and Dutch were being trucked to the nearest rail-line the next day, but there was no sign that the _Engländers _were going anywhere anytime soon. There had also been unsettling rumors that the English were not releasing their German prisoners, nor would they authorize or allow the release of those held in Canada. All together it presented a very worrisome problem; Dekker knew that Something would have to be done about it, and soon.

He expected orders to arrive for them any day, now that they were up to full strength again and had been training together for some time. Surely High Command wouldn't leave an experienced Combat Unit like this one just sitting, _rotting_, in the Polish-Ukrainian borderlands like this. But no orders came, and the snow began to pile up, until only the tanks and half-tracks could get through the muck that underlay everything. They would be there all winter, it seemed. Dekker rapidly became very grateful that he'd been issued half-tracked trucks, slow though they were. He had cursed the man who'd designed them at first, for they were slower than his other supply vehicles, and their tracks required nearly as much maintenance as those on his Panthers, but his prisoners would have starved without them. As it was, he had to send them to the nearest station for supplies every week to keep them all in food. _Gott_ help them if the trains couldn't get though…

November crawled into December, and the Greenhouses finally started to produce. According to his French Market-farmers, the deep beds of fresh horse manure that he had laid _under_ the actual growing beds were what allowed the vigorous growth and abundant production: they provided heat to the plants' roots as the manure rotted, as well as needed nutrients. He could have tried fancier crops, but the staples were all that interested him right then. Caring for the Greenhouses provided an additional plus, in that it helped occupy at least a few of the prisoners.

They were bored now, kept inside most of the time by the weather. Very few of the men held there had warm coats – it was hard enough on them to go outside for _Appell_ these days. Dekker found that he was using the same men over and over for wood-cutting details – and it showed. They were losing weight visibly, from the hard work and the cold. Reluctantly he made the assignment semi-permanent for that group, and got the expected complaints and grumbling… until they realized that their rations had been substantially increased, and were of better quality also. Most of the other prisoners wisely kept quiet about this, realizing that this wasn't a sign of favoritism, but an acknowledgement of their increased need.

In mid-December rumors started to fly again, but not of an impending invasion of England or renewed activity against Russia. This time word slipped about that Italy would be their target. Few believed this; why would they invade an ally, poor fighters though the Italians were? The courier that was overheard saying this was severely reprimanded for spreading such gossip: if false, it could create problems with the Italians; if true, the Italians might hear of it, and be forewarned. But in the privacy of the _Kommandantur_, Dekker and Kimmich discussed these rumors, witnessed only by Brewster.

«They would have nothing to gain there,» Kimmich insisted. «The Italians are dirt-poor – worse than these eastern Peasants. We go through their Country when and where we wish. We have no reason to invade them.»

«They still hold to the _Fascisti_,» Dekker pointed out, trying to think of any other reasons besides this. «Mussolini still holds Power there, if barely.»

The two _Offiziere_ fell silent, contemplating this, but it was Brewster who spoke next.

«Is there _any_thing in Italy that Germany might consider to be theirs? Something that the Italians won't return or release? Something being destroyed, or ruined or… _I_ don't know. Any Ideas?»

«As far as I know,» Dekker said, his voice thoughtful, «We don't even keep any Garrisons there. They supply their own Weapons and Munitions, their own Supplies. There has _been_ no fighting there; the Italians saw some Action in Crete and Greece, and North Afrika, but not that much. To be truthful, the only thing that I have heard they were good for was holding the _AfrikaKorps'_ Prisoners of War there.»

Brewster looked up at that. «Have they sent any Home, now that the War is over in Europe?»

Both Germans looked at each other in surprise. «I do not know» Kimmich answered slowly. «But surely we would not attack an Ally over _that_.»

Dekker got a sour look on his face. «_I_ have heard some nasty Rumors of severe mistreatment of Prisoners there. That might just possibly be Cause enough.» He snorted in disgust. «I had enough hard Looks in Berlin over _meine_ _H__ü__nde; _even they do not think that they are mistreated. The Italians, though… It is possible, I suppose. We will have to wait and see. The Rumors being spread by that Courier said that our Forces would go after Christmas, if we go at all.»

«So. We will know in two Weeks, or so,» Kimmich muttered, looking unhappy.

«_We_ would have to leave well before that, if the 384th is to participate,» Dekker pointed out morosely. «It will take us a Week just to get out of this Muck and out to a Rail-head for entraining. I doubt that they would have us Convoy so far by Road. We may have very good Oil and Fuel Supplies now, but these Panthers drink Diesel Fuel faster than Russians drink Vodka. The High Command will not waste it on that. The Train would get us there faster, too, and we would not have Break-downs strung out all along our Line of March.»

«Besides, you would have heard something Official by now,» Jimmy added in a quiet voice. «Christmas is the end of next Week, Guys. Today's the 16th.»


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

January 3rd, 1943

Stalag 384

«We are being sent **What** ?!!!»

Brewster's head snapped up alertly at his _Major's _cry of outrage. The courier had just dropped off the morning's dispatches, and had wisely retreated far from the _Kommandant's _Office as fast as possible. Jimmy had wondered about that at the time, but now he suspected that the young _Feldwebel_ had been warned that he was carrying unwelcome news. With a sigh Jim rose from his seat beside the wood stove in the receptionist's office and headed back to try to calm Dekker down.

«Trouble, _Herr Major_?» he asked as he cautiously stuck his head through the office door.

Dekker froze where he stood leaning over his desk, glaring down at the offending dispatch. He visibly gathered his self-control, then looked up at his Rottweiler. «You could say that,» he grated out as he settled back down into his seat.

«Tell me, Jimmy: what do you think will happen if _Women_ are imprisoned here?»

Brewster managed to hold back his own cry of disbelief, taking a deep breath instead. «You're joking, right?" he managed to get out finally, staring at Dekker.

«I wish. Apparently our good Friend General Mannheim feels that _this_ is the best Place to incarcerate a Group of Commonwealth Nurses taken from the Italians. Oh, did I mention that they are _**Abused**_ Nurses?» Dekker was nearly frothing at the mouth again, but Jim was uncertain as to why: because they'd been abused, or because they were coming _here_?

«How many are we talking about?» Maybe they could be quartered in the House? Brewster knew they couldn't go out in the general compound with those love-starved men.

«_This_ says thirteen in the _First_ Batch,» Dekker wasn't snarling now, but he was still far from happy. «If they find more in Italy, they will be sent here also. What did I ever do to deserve _this?!!_»

«Umm… You showed that you were Trustworthy and Honorable, _mein Major_?» That stopped Dekker's rant, and he looked at his Hound thoughtfully as Jim continued. «If they were abused, they will need a lot of Care and _**Protection**_. I'd say that Someone – Mannheim, I guess – thinks quite highly of you and your ability to control your Men, if he's sending Women here to you for Safekeeping.»

The Panzer _Major_ sat still for several long moments as he turned this thought around in his mind. At last he nodded, and took a deep breath. «We will have to establish a separate Holding Area for these Women, Jimmy. They **cannot** go in with the Men in the Main Compound.»

«No Sir, definitely not,» Brewster agreed, wracking his own brain for ideas. «In fact, I'd put 'em on the far side of your Men's Camp. If the Men in the Main Compound can see 'em, they're gonna try to get to 'em… or some of those Guys will. There are always a few Jerks in every Bunch. You probably won't have to put a Compound up around the Women… I doubt they'll want to be out where someone could grab them, for a long Time to come.

«You still have that one Quonset Building; you could put that up for the Girls. When are they due to arrive?»

«Three Days, this says,» Dekker muttered, reading more carefully now that he was over his shock and calmer. «Mannheim signed this, but it says that a 'fellow Panzer _Offizier_' recommended me to him. Hard to tell if it was a Friend trying to do me a Favor, or an Enemy setting me up for a Fall.» Dekker laughed softly now. «If Lasch weren't dead, I'd suspect him of trying to trap me somehow.» He leaned back in his chair, relaxing finally.

«Go tell Kimmich that it's safe for him to come and see what is up. We have much Work to do, to ready a Place for these Women. A bare 'Quonset' Hut is no Place for a traumatized Lady; we will have to see what we can find to make it more livable.»

«_Jawohl, mein Major_,» Brewster replied, clicking his heels before leaving to send Kimmich in. They would be very busy now… and Brewster had a few thoughts on where rugs and such just might be found nearby.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker had scrambled a whole platoon to clear an area for the new building and start getting it set up. It would be difficult; the ground was hard-frozen now, so lines for running water would be nearly impossible to run. Still, they would work _some_thing out, somehow. It surprised him though, when some of his Hounds, led by Jimmy, requested permission to go riding. He had thought that they'd wish to help… but Jimmy rarely asked for anything, and only three of the others were going with him, so Dekker gave his permission. He watched them ride out twenty minutes later, then turned his attention back to his men, and the job at hand.

The foundations were miserable to put in, due to the frozen ground, but the men persevered. They had, somehow, learned _who_ this barracks was intended for, and worked with a will. One man, used to the long cold winters, suggested that fires be laid on the ground along the route of the needed water-lines, to unfreeze the soil so that a trench could be dug and the pipes laid. This made the ground workable at least; work-parties from the POW's compound were set to digging this, although they were not told who the intended occupants were.

By late afternoon they had gotten about half of the framework up, and the trenches dug for the waterlines. It was getting dark by then and Dekker was starting to worry, for there had been no sign of his Hounds returning yet. Mentally he called himself several kinds of fool, for allowing them this opportunity to escape, and was about to send a guard detail out to look for them when Brewster rode up to the construction site.

«Where have you been?!!» Dekker demanded, his face harder than the ground had been, his eyes colder. His mood worsened at the sounds of laughter coming from the others as they came up behind Brewster, but this fell away at his furious demeanor.

«I apologize, _mein Major_,» Brewster carefully answered as he swung down from his saddle and came to attention. «I had not thought to be gone so long, but we dared not risk the Horses' Legs by going Cross-country, with all this Snow masking all Hazards. And the Roads were very icy, so we had to be doubly cautious. We went to the other abandoned Farmsteads, _Herr Major_; it took much longer by Road. But we found what we were looking for, plus a Bonus or two.»

He gestured over his shoulder with a toss of his head, drawing Dekker's eyes to the lane into camp. The German managed to contain his surprise at the sight of Connolly leading a strange horse that had been harness to a small cart, with a second horse tied behind.

«I have no Idea how long they were out there, _Herr Major_,» Brewster quietly said. «Their Feet are pretty bad, so I'd guess it's been Years. Their Pasture Fencing must have been broken down, letting them into the Woods. We found them at the Barn at the old Kaminski Farm; I'd guess they were seeking Shelter and Feed. They came right up to us…»

He broke off as Dekker walked over to examine these new horses. Small, but still heavy farm horses, yes… and uglier horses he'd never seen, short-coupled and stocky, with heavy, blocky heads. Their winter coats were very coarse, although this could be due to the lack of care. Still, they had to be tough to have survived so long on their own. The one in harness, a mare, wasn't too bad, but the thick neck on the other…

«This is a Stallion,» Dekker said in surprise after a quick glance under the led horse.

«Yes Sir, _Herr Major_,» Connolly replied. «There was a young one also – perhaps a two-year-old – but we couldn't get near it, and didn't want to waste any more Time. If you wish, we can try again Tomorrow.»

«Do so; it cannot stay out there,» The German decided. «It is a Miracle that it hasn't been eaten by _some_thing by now.

«Where did you find the Cart, and what _is_ all this?» He waved a hand at the bundles piled in said cart, although he now had his suspicions.

«We… uh… We raided your other Farm Houses for Rugs and Curtains, and Bedding, _Herr Major_,» Brewster answered, unsure just how the German would take this. Still, it was usually easier to obtain forgiveness than to get permission – or it was with most people. With Dekker, who knew? He gritted his mental teeth and plowed on. «We also found an assortment of Ladies' Winter Clothing: Coats, Boots, and warm Underthings. One of the Farms had been ransacked already; the others were much like this One, untouched, except the One that had been burned to the Ground. We found the Cart at the same Farm as the Horses, along with their harness. I _think_ I heard other Livestock in the Woods – Pigs, or Cattle, maybe. The Gestapo wouldn't have cared about those when they took the former Owners away, would they?»

«No, they would not have, especially if they were out of sight – out on Pasture, perhaps. It is possible that they could have been overlooked that way,» Dekker agreed thoughtfully. He gazed at the horses once more with a concealed shudder, then sighed. «Put them up with the Others, but do not let _this_ Thing,» he indicated the stallion with a glare, «fight with Cossack. _Or_ get in with the Riding Mares. We may have to use him on the Work Mares, though…»

«_Zu Befehl, mein Major_,» Connolly, as horse-handler for this party, responded from his saddle. He turned his mount and led the two new horses towards shelter, and the first meal they'd had in years that they'd not had to find for themselves.

«You know, Sir, he's really not _that_ bad… for a Russian Peasant-bred Horse,» Brewster offered cautiously. «Yeah, he's block-headed, but he looks strong. And he'll be easy to groom; he doesn't have all that extra Hair down around his Feet. Didn't give us any Trouble either, Sir; he didn't try for any of our Mounts, although he _did_ look and nicker at them at first.»

Dekker laughed. «He has better Manners than Cossack, then. **He** is a handful.»

«Yessir,» Jim agreed with a grin. Apparently all was forgiven, for his Superior was relaxed and _almost_ smiling once more. «With your Permission, Sir, we'll get the rest of the Horses rubbed down and put up.»

«Go; you are dismissed for now. We will see what you found Tomorrow, if we can get this finished by then.»

«_Jawohl, mein Major_.» He came to attention with a click of his heels, then turned and led his horse away, followed by his last two men.

Mission accomplished, successfully it seemed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They were all out working on the Quonset Building the next morning right after an early breakfast, loose livestock forgotten for now in the press of time. All day they struggled with it, cursing the cold that made handling the sheet metal so difficult. Fire-barrels had been lit around the area for the men to warm themselves at, but it was a long, hard job, made more dangerous when they had to climb up to bolt the roofing sheets in place on the now-assembled framework. Dekker considered using arc-lights so work could continue into the night, but he finally decided to err on the side of safety, and halted work when the sun went down once more. He silently cursed the short winter days and wondered if they would be ready in time.

It was mid-afternoon before the last roof panel was bolted into place and the front end installed. The water lines had been run, two and a half feet deep to keep them from freezing. Four good iron wood-and-coal burning stoves had been installed instead of the usual two, and had fires burning in them already to start to warm the large space. A shower area had been partitioned off, and the last three floor panels were being laid on their raised framework when Kimmich arrived from the _Kommandantur_.

«_Herr Major_,» the SIC called, his voice respectful. «We were just called by the Station; the new 'Prisoners' are due to arrive there in two Hours. I have sent Trucks, with extra Blankets, to wait for them there. There are also supposed to be Furnishings of some sort for them. I suspect that these will be more Beds, Footlockers, and perhaps Clothes Presses.»

«Good; we are nearly ready for them here,» Dekker replied as he straightened from screwing down a panel. He had been working with his men, along with his Hounds, trying to beat this unspecified deadline. At least they'd given him enough warning _this_ time, he thought with a snicker as he remembered the first major influx of POWs for him to hold.

«_Ja_… Oh, and they are sending you an Administrator to help with the Paperwork – an ex-_Luftwaffe Offizier_,» Kimmich added. «He was disgraced somehow, and demoted from _Oberst_ to _Oberleutnant_, due to something that happened during the War. They wouldn't say what – no doubt it is in his Records, but they _did_ say that he is very good with the Paperwork. Just don't leave him to make Decisions, or expect him to … how did they say it?... Oh, yes: Catch any 'Monkey Business'.»

Kimmich paused and looked at Brewster, who was trying desperately to stifle his snickers. «Is it Contagious, then?»

«Sorry, _Herr Oberleutnant_.» Jim managed to regain enough control to say that calmly. «I just haven't heard that Phrase in a long Time. Your Pardon, Sir.»

Kimmich studied the _Amerikaner_, decided that _he_ wasn't being mocked, and nodded his forgiveness. «Anyway, they said that he's had experience with the Needs and Problems of running a Prison Camp. I wonder, though, why they would send him way out here? Most of our Prisoners are being gathered in Germany proper and France, for processing and release. Why send him three quarters of the way to Russia?»

Dekker was thoughtful, then gave one sharp bark of laughter. «Perhaps _that_ is precisely the Reason, _Herr_ Kimmich,» Dekker said, laughter still in his eyes. «Think: an _Offizier_ so Incompetent as to be demoted even _after_ the fighting has ended… how long would such a One last on the Front? If you really wanted to punish Someone, you'd want it to last a while, _ja_? I mean, _we_ were left out here to punish _me_, were we not? And to be sent so far East would surely be frightening; it would be so easy to be sent the Rest of the Way.

«But we will see. Perhaps he is not _quite_ so bad as that.»

«I'll check the Supplies for you, _Herr Major_,» Jim offered quietly. "I think you have plenty of Ammunition for your Pistol, though.»

The two _Offiziere_ looked at Dekker's Rottweiler blankly for a moment, then broke down into gales of laughter. And Brewster just smiled grimly at them, then followed as they returned to the office to await the new arrivals.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was well after dark before the trucks pulled into the yard before the _Kommandantur_. The men had finished mess; the prisoners were confined to their quarters in their compound. Dekker, backed by Kimmich and his Hounds, strode down the back steps to greet the new arrivals.

An older _Offizier_ climbed out of the cab of the lead truck to meet them; he carried a large briefcase, which he fumbled as he came to attention to salute the Senior Officer present. «_Oberleutnant _Wilhelm Klink reporting, Sir,» he announced, clearly unhappy about something.

Dekker looked him over carefully before returning the salute. «Go inside, Klink; Davidson, show him to my Office and stay with him. Wilkes, guide the Trucks carrying the … the Ladies to the Mess Tent; they may go inside and have some Supper, for they must be hungry by now. I will see them there shortly. Perelli, show the Trucks with the Furnishings to the new Barracks; see that everything is unloaded and set out properly. Kevin, go with him. please. _I_ must see to this Klink… I believe that I have heard of him, somewhere…»

«I have heard of him, _Herr Major_,» Kimmich exclaimed, disgust in his voice. «He's the cowardly Buffoon who used to command _Luftstalag_ 13. _That_ was the Camp that hid a Group of Saboteurs…»

«Ah, yes. _I_ remember him now… hearing about him, that is,» Dekker responded slowly. «_General_ Mannheim's Bondsman was Senior POW there. Truthfully, Klink never stood a chance against _him_. I am very Grateful that Jimmy is a different Type altogether. But come: it grows no earlier, and I still have to see to the Ladies.»

Greatcoats off again, flanked by Brewster and Connolly and backed by Kimmich, Dekker entered his office to confront… ah, _**meet**_ _Oberleutnant_ Klink. Demoted three full grades, Dekker thought; the man was lucky that he hadn't been shot. Klink shot to his feet from the chair he'd been guided to, to wait in, snapping to attention once again.

«At ease, Klink,» Dekker said as he once more studied his newest Subordinate. Old, he was, going rapidly bald… make that bald_er_. An old-time Aristocrat, complete with monocle. It was easy to see how he could be labeled a buffoon. Dekker walked to his desk and seated himself, noting with interest that Klink kept a wary eye on his Hounds, but did not seem particularly frightened of them. Most seemed either to ignore them totally, or feared them openly.

He looked over Klink again. He had been a good soldier, once. He wore several awards-medals. Most likely it was a case of this just not being _his_ war. The last one had been, though; he was old enough for that. Things had been very different then. «Your Papers, Klink.»

«_Jawohl, Herr Major_,» Klink responded, sounding sad; well he should, being demoted like that. But he handed his Papers and Personnel file over readily enough, and waited patiently while Dekker looked them over as carefully as he'd examined the man himself. Finally he looked up again.

«You will not be very happy here, Klink,» Dekker said, his voice even. «You were _Luftwaffe_; _we_ are… **not** _Heer_, although we look it, more or less. But you are here to handle the Prisoners' Paperwork, and all the Details involved in maintaining them until most can be sent Home again. It is, at least, Work that you are familiar with, unlike myself.

«So, we will set up an Office for you tomorrow; there is an extra Bedroom upstairs that you may use. Both _Oberleutnant _Kimmich and I sleep here in the House, along with… some Others. I warn you now: You will not harass or 'chase' after the Cook; she has been abused more than enough. And there is a special Group of Men here; you have seen them already. Cross them, or harass them at your Peril. They sleep here in the House also; one sleeps up in my Room as a Bodyguard. Abuse them or my Dog and I will shoot you. Do I make myself clear?»

«Yessir: you'll shoot me, Sir. I understand,» Klink babbled for a moment until he realized just what he'd said. Then he turned white and looked like a kicked puppy, but he held his tongue. His eyes snapped to one of Dekker's shadows as the man spoke.

«I've checked already, _Herr Oberleutnant_ Klink: _mein Major_ has _plenty_ of Ammunition. Ask anyone; they'll tell you he solves Problems with his Mauser. But it'll be a clean Kill, at least.»

«Jimmy.» Just the one word from Dekker, but the Bondsman came to attention, then relaxed and nodded. That was all; it was all that was needed. Klink looked like he was about to pass out. «Connolly, show _Oberleutnant_ Klink up to his Room, if you would.» Dekker's voice was soft as he gave the order.

«_Zu Befehl_,» the other Bondsman responded crisply, moving to open the office door once more in a not-so-subtle hint. Klink stumbled through, and Connolly followed, closing the door behind them.

«Jimmy, _you_ are an Evil Man,» Kimmich said quietly, receiving back a grin.

«Why, thank you, _Herr Oberleutnant_. I tried.»

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

What little conversation there was fell silent when Dekker walked into the Mess tent, trailed by his Hounds and Kimmich. Fear was so thick in the air you could smell it, Dekker thought sadly. He felt it totally besides the point that he had, in the past, intentionally caused such fear himself; that didn't count, for to him they were 'just' Russian and Ukrainian Peasants. _These_ were civilized women, nurses who would tend the injured of either side impartially. He fought down the rage that tried to run through him, knowing that it would be misread.

He paused to look over the group of women briefly before trying what was, for him, a gentle smile. "Good evening, Ladiez. I am _Major_ Johann Dekker, _Kommandant_ ovf this… Fazility, _und_ ovf these men. You vill be my gueztz _hier_, until mozt ovf you _kann_ be zent home vonce (once) more.

"You need not fear vhile you are _hier_; none ovf my men vill ovfer you any harm or inzult. Should any try, you havf but to tell either myself, or _mein Oberfeldwe… _my Senior Sergeant, ivf you _kann _not find _Oberleu…_ **Lieutenant **Kimmich, _hier, _or vone (one) ovf my Houndz. Thoze are men drezzed like this," he paused to indicate Brewster and Wilkes, who stood just behind him. "Mozt ovf my men underztant zome _Englisch_; they vill get zomevone else _f__ü__r _you ivf they _kann_ not underztant vhat you vant.

"Ve vill havf you settled in chust (just) a short vhile; _mein _men are finishing setting up your kvarterz now. I hope you _kann_ be comfortable _hier_; ve do not havf much in the vay ovf luxuriez, I am afraid. Ivf you need anything, or havf any kveztionz, feel free to azk vone ovf _meine H__ünde – _my Hounds. They vill introduze themzelvfz later.

"Ve havf fery (very) good Doktorz _hier_, ivf any ovf you need medical care; they vill be looking you ovfer tomorrow ivf there are no urgent needz tonight." Dekker paused again as McKeigh stuck his head into the tent.

«We're set up and ready for the Ladies, _Herr Major_,» he said, keeping his voice down.

«_Sehr gut_,» Dekker said, then turned his attention back to the gathered nurses. "I am told that your kvarterz are ready; ivf you vould _komm mit mir,_ please…"

He indicted the entry to the mess tent; the watching guards closed in around the women in such a way as to herd them towards the exit without being exactly threatening. Once he was sure they were moving, Dekker turned to lead the way out into the night. His Hounds fell into place around him, a protective buffer between his back and any possible threat. He took three steps out into the foot-deep snow and stopped.

«I cannot take them out into this!» he muttered, to himself he thought, but he was clearly heard.

«No, _mein Major_, it is too far for them to walk without boots,» Kimmich agreed, for the camp was actually quite large – the size of the tanks and half-tracks, and all the necessary supply trucks creating most of the sprawl. The Mess tent had been centrally located, making it convenient to the _Kommandantur_ and Medical facilities. The men, those not quartered in the second Quonset set up for the prison guards, lived in heavily insulated tents warmed by small heaters. These tents were spread out also, to cut down on the hazards of a fire starting and spreading amoung them, and to make it harder for any raiders to take out too many men in case of attack.

For security reasons, and the fact that the original barn had been fairly close to the house, the POW's Compound had also been centrally located. This meant that the Nurses' new quarters had been set up nearly at the edge of the encampment. It was not good from the viewpoint of protection from Outside threats, but it was the only way to ensure protection from the other POWs. Dekker knew that _his _men wouldn't dare to offer insult to these women, not even the prison guards. He had _lots_ of ammunition, and they knew it.

But that still left the new Nurses' quarters quite far from the Mess tent.

«What about the Carts?» Kimmich suggested. «It would not take so very long to harness two of the Horses…»

«I'll see to it, _Herr Major_,» McKeigh volunteered, heading off into the night to acquire transport.

Dekker could only sigh. «Tell them, Jimmy,» was his only comment as he turned to go back inside.

"Uhh, Ladies?" Brewster called out as he, too, turned around. "There's been a slight change of plans, while we get some transport for you. The snow's pretty deep in places, and you're not really dressed for this weather. If you'd go on back to your seats, we'll have this situation fixed as fast as possible. Sorry bout the delay; we know you're tired from the trip, so we'll get you settled as fast as possible."

"Who're _you_?" one voice asked out of the midst of the women, almost a challenge.

"I'm Jim Brewster, ma'am, former Staff Sergeant, SAS. _And_ one of my _Major's_ Hounds; he calls me his Rottweiler."

Dekker cut in: "He iz my Pack-leader; _nicht wahr_, Jimmy?"

«_Ja, mein Major, das richtig ist_.» Brewster paused and grinned. " 'That's correct', I said. But you'll meet the rest of us tomorrow, I'm sure, while you're in-processing."

"How come you take that from him?" the same voice demanded no less aggressively in a distinctly middle-class British accent.

Brewster tried to identify the speaker, but the best he could do was localize which side of the room she was on. He grinned. "I 'take it', as you say, because it's not meant as an insult, first of all. And, since I'm American-born _and_ can't go home any more, unlike yourself, it sure beats an unmarked grave out in the woods somewhere. I'd really rather work for someone who appreciates me, like the Major does, than for someone who just sees me as grunt labor. Wouldn't you?"

Silence fell, thoughtful silence, through which could finally be heard the jingling of harness and the creaking of carts outside the mess tent.

"Sounds like your rides are here. _Mein Major?_" Brewster turned to look at his superior, who went, peeked out the door, then nodded.

«Help them into the Carts, and see them settled, Jimmy. I'm going back to the _Kommandantur_.» he instructed, then turned and vanished out into the night.

"Jessica, you're an _idiot_ to antagonize them," one girl could be heard berating another.

"It's not that bad," Jim said to the… not a girl, he saw, but a Light Bird – a Lieutenant Colonel – of nurses. "Major Dekker isn't the warm, out-going type, that's all. You'll get used to him _and _us. But let's get your Ladies outside, okay? We can probably fit seven to a cart… or are there more than fourteen of you? I haven't seen your records yet."

The woman looked at him thoughtfully. "There are seventeen of us, sergeant. Is this a problem?"

He sighed and shook his head. "No ma'am, not a problem exactly; just typical. _They_ told us to expect fourteen of you, but they usually send more than they tell us to expect. Oh, we know they'll send more of you ladies to us as they liberate you from the Italians, just… not tonight. Know what I mean?"

"I believe so, sergeant," she started, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"Ma'am, just 'Jimmy', okay? Or 'Brewster' if you'd rather. The war's over, and I'm… not the Army's anymore. I'm Dekker's, so no rank, if you would. Not for any of us."

He was cut off by McKeigh. "C'mon, Jimmy, getta move on. The horses are gettin' cold, an' so'm I."

"Right," Jim answered with a smile. "After you, Colonel ma'am," he said as he ushered the nurses outside and helped them up into the waiting carts. Some bales of straw had been placed in each cart for seating; warm blankets were handed up so they could wrap up in them. As soon as the first cart was fully loaded the horse was led off, runners creaking over the snow. Wheels would have been useless in the muck and slush underlying the snow, so removable runners had replaced the wheels, turning the cart-bed into a sleigh-like affair. Not long after, the second was following into the cold darkness, carrying the women into the unknown.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Peterson pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders as the horse was brought to a halt outside a raw-looking metal building. She could not see where this could possibly be good – the place was probably a freezing barn, bare and impersonal. What a change from hot, 'sunny' Italy to this frozen pit of a country. The _Kommandant's_ eyes were as cold as the environment.

The only thing to be said for this change of keepers was that, so far, the Germans had treated them with great respect. Somehow she doubted that any sane man here would want to cross that Major, but you never could tell. She looked down to where 'Jimmy' waited to assist her from the cart and sighed.

Planks had been laid over the snow, leading to the building's door to give drier footing. A guard carried her few belongings in after her; he reached around to open the door for her. She couldn't help but find his heel-clicking as she passed him amusing. He followed her inside, where she found that a vestibule had been constructed from rough planks. A second door was opened to her right, allowing access to the building-proper. Her escort walked in just far enough to clear the doorway, set down her bag against a wooden wall, then, after one more heel-clicking moment of attention, turned and left the building.

She looked around herself, bemused. Yes, the building was large and barn-like, but half-walls had been erected to create open-fronted 'rooms'. Foot lockers sat at the ends of the beds that had been placed in these walled-off areas, four to a space; wardrobes stood against the outside walls of the building, providing a little more insulation against the cold. There was one window per 'room'; _curtains_ had been put up over these. Small throw rugs lay in the short aisle between the rows of beds in each room.

The center of the building had cast iron stoves spaced down the center. Long tables, roughly constructed, were set between the stoves, with benches lining each side. Tablecloths covered the tops of the tables; larger rugs were on the floors behind the benches. Several of the nurses were wandering around the rooms, fingering the quilts and Eiderdowns that covered the beds. It was amazing; these men had clearly made an effort to make these quarters more bearable.

She had to smother a half-hysterical laugh.

"Colonel?" This was asked with a distinct quaver to the voice.

Sarah looked over to find the second-highest ranking nurse looking around in confusion.

"Well, we may as well get settled in," Sarah said, trying to sound upbeat. She indicated a large closed-off area at the rear of the building. "Anyone see what's back there, yet?"

"No…no ma'am," the shaken reply came.

A disdainful sniff from Jessica Simon was ignored as Sarah looked around at her shocky 'troops'. Poor treatment they would have handled better, she guessed; it was all they expected now. Well, they would just have to get used to this. She headed to the back with a firm step, disguising her own uncertainty. That was, after all, what a commander did.

She discovered an enclosed wash area, several large sinks in a row, each large enough to do hand-laundry in. Partitioned water-closets ran down the far side, and walled-off shower stalls were against the back wall. Another of the cast iron stoves sat in the middle of this area for heat; lines were strung all around to dry laundry. This area had a ceiling installed about ten feet up; it would be warmer in here than the rest of the building, making showering much more pleasant.

"Looks like they've thought of everything," Leftenant Mary Haggerty peered around her Colonel's shoulder to examine the facilities.

"They've tried to, at least," Sarah agreed, and chuckled. "I can't say that I was looking forward to outdoor latrines in _this_ weather." She gave a mock-shudder at the thought.

"I wonder who was displaced for us?"

Sarah nudged at some sawdust with one foot. "I'd say that they put it up just for us. Must have been quite a trick to run the waterlines." She turned and headed back out to their common-room area, and looked around at her command.

"All right, Ladies; pick your beds. I'd recommend grouping yourselves together, so that any newcomers can also stay with those they already know." She walked over to retrieve her bag, only then noticing that it sat beside an area with part of the front walled off, giving some privacy from the door opening into the building's vestibule. Inside there were only two beds behind the walled section; a small desk and chair sat on the open side of this sleeping area.

"Looks like that's for you, Ma'am," Mary said with a chuckle. "CO's quarters, or I miss my guess."

"Hmmm… You could be right. And here I thought that guard was just being… oh, I don't know. 'Lazy' doesn't quite describe it."

"Maybe shy about coming further in?"

"More like _cautious_ about coming further in," Sarah corrected as she gathered up her bag and took it into the little roomette. "That Major looked like a man-killer." She paused a moment in reflection, then nodded. "Yes, a real Man-Killer. And I, for one, think that I am going to be grateful for that." She turned and looked out her 'door' at her nurses.

"Get some sleep, Ladies. For all we know, there'll be Roll Call in the morning. I wouldn't want to be caught in bed, either. Good night." She watched as the others settled at last, then blew the lamps on the tables out and settled in her own bed for the night.

She hadn't been lying down very long when she heard the outer door to their building creak open, then thump shut again. A rattling, scraping sound followed, then the creak of a chair as a heavy weight settled down onto it. Sarah rose and wrapped the remains of her coat around her shoulders, then quietly made her way to the inner door. Cautiously easing it open, she peered out into the vestibule.

The guard who now sat there was alert; his head turned sharply at the opening of the door. He rose to his feet, but did not move towards her as Sarah had half-feared he might. Instead he straightened, clicked his heels, and gave a half-bow of respect.

"_Gut_ eefeninkt, _Gnädige Fräulein,_" he said very soft-voiced. "I vill _macht_ sure you disturbed vill not be. There vill a guard be, each _nicht hier_. Ve vill try to disturb you _nicht. Gut, ja?_"

"Uhh, yes, right," Sarah muttered, wondering just how trustworthy this guard would be. Her unease was apparently clear to the guard, who frowned as he tried to piece out how to explain better.

There are other _Kriegsgefangeneren hier, Fräulein;_ they trusted are _nicht_. They know you _hier_ are _nicht_, yet… ah, I vill _ein Hund_ get. _Eine Moment, bitte_." He rose then, and headed out into the night.

"What was all that?" Captain Catherine Holbrooke asked as she joined her Colonel at the door.

"It seems a guard is being posted here at night," Sarah returned, bemused. "I _think_ it's meant for our protection, although I'm not certain against what. My German is **far** from good."

"Where'd he go, Ma'am?"

"To get one of those 'Hounds', I gather. We'd best wait inside; it's a good bit warmer with this door closed." She suited action to words, shutting the inner door and moving to a seat near the closest stove.

The wait was lengthy. Sarah didn't know if it were due to the hour, or the size of the camp – or if whoever the guard had gone to fetch resisted coming. At last, though, she heard the outer door open and close, heavy boots crossed the floor, and a soft rap sounded on the inner door.

She opened it and studied what she could see of the man who waited there. The guard once more sat on the chair, ignoring the meeting at the inner door. "Come in, so we don't lose any more heat," she instructed, stepping back from the door to allow him entry.

"Thank you, Ma'am," came the polite reply in American-accented English. "I'm McKeigh, Ma'am. Friedman said you had questions?"

"I think he was trying to explain his presence… What is your rank, soldier?" she interrupted herself in irritation.

"Ma'am, I was a corporal. You'd best just call me McKeigh, though… or Kevin, if you'd prefer. We don't use ranks anymore, since we're the Major's now. It's… a long story, actually, Ma'am."

"I have _lots_ of time," she remarked dryly, determined to get to the bottom of the mysterious situation.

Yes ma'am," Kevin responded, containing his sigh. "We were Commandos: SAS. The Major caught us, decided NOT to shoot us out of hand, and then the war ended. We can't go home, 'cause we're all Americans like you, ma'am, so the Major's keeping us. That's the short version, ma'am." He wasn't grinning when he said that, she saw.

"And the guard at the door?" she queried.

"There's a compound in the center of this camp, Ma'am," he said, looking very unhappy. "The men there… well, some can't be trusted to be Gentlemen. Right now they don't know that you Ladies are here; the Major is concerned that some may try to slip out once they learn about you. Hence, the guard. You don't have to worry about any man assigned here; they know that Dekker will shoot any man that disgraces this unit. That's if their fellows don't scrag 'em first."

"I… see. And you men?"

"Us? We're Dekker's Hounds: his Honor is ours. You'd best try to rest; your Roll Call will be after _Appell_ for the main compound, which is at 0630. You'll hear Reveille in the morning – or you can have your guard give you advance warning, so everyone can get dressed ahead of time."

"That… might be best, I think," Sarah admitted slowly.

"We'll install a bell with a pull-cord tomorrow, so the guard won't have to come in," Kevin offered as he shifted back towards the door. "Good night, Ma'am," he said, then he was gone, leaving her to mull over this new information.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dekker leaned back in his chair, his coffee cup cradled in his hands. He was late at table this morning; Kimmich had left long before to start his day's work. The new _Oberleutnant_, Klink, had had _Kaffe_ but nothing else; he was already busily at work setting up his new office. Dekker could hear him moving around despite his obvious attempts to remain silent… and therefore unnoticed. It would definitely be an adjustment, working with a _Luftwaffe_ man. They were… softer… than even the _Heer_. He looked up.

«Jimmy – do not terrorize Klink. I do not want my Desk-Jockey dying of a Heart-Attack. Besides, I understand that he treated his POWs very gently during the War. You would pay him back ill, to harass him now.»

It was several moments before Brewster sighed. «You are correct, of course. I shouldn't kick a Man who's down, especially if he _isn't_ fighting me. Do you wish me to apologize to him, _mein Major_?»

«I don't think that's necessary… but you _could_ go see if he needs any Help. I noticed that he did not fear you Men, but he _was _cautious.»

«Yeah. I'd say he's used to Men like us – or sort of like us. But he doesn't take us for granted, either, or assume us to be Harmless. He's not Stupid, no matter what anyone says.»

«No. He is _not_ Stupid,» Dekker agreed with a laugh. «I have read his Records more thoroughly: he held a Gestapo _Major_ off from some of his Prisoners for nearly two Years, before the Gestapo was disbanded and arrested. So do not snarl too fiercely at him. We _need_ his Expertise here, if we hope to care for our Prisoners properly… even if most of them _are_ like Cattle.»

«One thing to remember, _mein Major_: these are _not_ Steers, and Bulls can be very dangerous, especially in a Herd.» On that note Brewster headed out of the Dining Room and turned towards Klink's office. But Jim paused just outside the door, then turned and went into the kitchen.

«Anna, do you have any of those Pastries left?» he asked as Dekker's cook turned to see who'd come in.

She smiled at him, for she knew, now, that _this_ man was 'safe' and would not misunderstand the welcome. She was much more relaxed now, due in part to her returned hearing. «_Ja_, Jimmy, I have a few left; you wish One? Or is it for _unser Major_?» she asked him, moving towards the pie-safe as she spoke.

«Neither, Anna, but thanks,» Brewster told her with a gentle smile. He truly liked the woman: she tried so hard to please. «I want it for the new Man, _Oberleutnant_ Klink. Some _Kaffe_ too, if there's any left. He didn't eat any Breakfast this Morning, and I… sort of need a Peace Offering, if you know what I mean. I snarled at him pretty fiercely last Night.»

«**Bad** Dog!» Anna laughed at Jim, then nodded. «I will fix a Tray for you to bring him. Do you know how he likes his _Kaffe_?»

«Not yet, though we'll learn eventually.» He waited, then accepted the Tray with two Pastries on a plate, a carafe of hot coffee, and a small cup of milk. To this Anna added several sugar cubes in a small dish, a clean cup and saucer with a spoon, and a napkin, and Jim was ready to go.

He paused again at the office door at the sight of Klink sitting in front of his file cabinets, his head in his hands. He was the perfect picture of dejection. But the _Luftwaffe_ Officer straightened with a sigh before Jim could say anything, and turned to face his visitor in the doorway.

"What can I do for you?' he asked tonelessly in English, trying to hide his depression.

"I brought you some Breakfast, _Herr Oberleutnant_," Brewster replied, trying to be diplomatic. "We noticed that you hadn't eaten anything…"

Klink eyed him cautiously. This was the same man who'd so clearly threatened him last night, with the tacit approval of the _Kommandant_, _Major_ Dekker. Why, now, the kind treatment? A trap of some sort? Klink swallowed nervously. He was on very thin ice here, he knew. One foul-up, and he'd be on the Russian Front… or in front of a firing squad. And they had told him, in very succinct terms, that Dekker was not a tolerant man…

"Where would you like this, _Herr Oberleutnant_?" Brewster pressed, wondering what was going through Klink's mind.

"Thank you, but I'm not very hungry," Klink managed to force out. "I have a lot of work to do…"

"_Herr_ Klink – look, I was out of line last night," Jim tried a different approach. "_Mein Major_ spoils me rotten, and I take advantage of it sometimes. I don't know what got into me last night, but I'd like to apologize. Please, Sir, won't you eat something? Starving yourself won't do anyone any good."

"_He_ sent you in here?"

"Yes and no, Sir," Brewster smiled, somewhat shame-faced. "He hinted that it might be a good idea if I offered to help you a bit. The apology is _my_ idea, though.

"So, you need any help? Or would you like the nickel tour of the base and camp… the areas that I'm allowed in, anyway."

"You are not allowed free access?" Klink sounded surprised by that.

"No sir; not without his authorization. I nearly got myself shot over a joke once, even though we had an escort with us. The _Major_ had his reasons, and they were good ones. So, no; we don't usually push the limits much."

"You are…?"

"Brewster, Sir; the _Major_ calls me Jimmy. I'm his Pack Leader, his Rottweiler." He paused to chuckle at Klink's raised eyebrows. "We were SAS, Sir – Commandos. I was the squad's Sergeant, so the others all looked to me.

"I… see." Klink mulled that over, then sighed. "You'd best put that tray down, Serg…" but he cut off as Brewster shook his head.

"It's just Jimmy, Sir; _My_ war's over."

"And mine is not, it would seem. Very well, 'Jimmy'; you will join me?" Klink indicated the tray that now rested on his new desk.

"Thanks, but no thanks; I've already eaten. _Major_ Dekker sees that we're well fed, but I appreciate the offer. You go ahead and eat; I'll wait. I've already had my run for the day, and there's nothing else on my schedule."

Klink opened his mouth, but stopped himself with a shake of his head. No, he thought, perhaps Schultz had the right idea: sometimes it was better _not_ to know.

"Sit, Jimmy, and tell me what is here while I eat." Klink went and sat behind his desk, watching as Dekker's man poured out a cup of hot _Kaffe_ for him. This _Amerikaner_ was well-used to being around Germans, Klink thought, for he settled easily into the office's second chair before beginning his briefing.

"This is _Stalag_ 384 – it's named thusly after Dekker's Unit designation. He's a Combat Commander who just happened to be in the wrong – or right, depending on your outlook – place at the right time. Due to circumstances that no longer apply, this Unit was left here; they had been on their way back from a rotation on the Russian Front.

"The actual 384th is a Heavy Panzer Battalion, equipped with Panthers. They're the remains of a former _Waffen-SS_ unit… Yeah, we found that kinda scary too, especially at first," Jim added as he saw Klink pale abruptly. "They're a pretty decent bunch, actually. Dekker… well, he was under a _lot_ of stress when we fell to his hands; our Lieutenant gave him _way_ too much grief, so the Major just shot him.

"Anyway, he ended up with some English-born Commandos after us, then someone got the bright idea of dumping other POWs here. Hence, the Camp. And now we've got the women from Italy, courtesy of _Generalleutnant_ Mannheim. But what we really have here, now, is an administrative mess. Dekker and Kimmich know how to run a Combat Unit, and how and where to get the supplies they need for their men and equipment. But POWs? I guess someone – Mannheim again, or _his _Bondsman –- took pity on us here, and had you assigned to us. _Herr Major_ Dekker said that you have experience running a POW camp."

"Oh yes, and you wouldn't believe the paperwork… yes you would," Klink visibly deflated again as he realized that they knew only too well.

"Yeah, well… You should know where to find supplies and stuff. Like, we need clothes for those women. Men's uniform trousers and shirts will do, but what we really need for them are coats. Got any ideas?" Jim was sitting back, totally relaxed as he spoke.

Klink tried for a stern expression. "You are very sure of yourself," he said critically.

But Brewster just looked calmly at him. "I'm Dekker's dog, not yours. Only a fool beats another man's dog, and _mein Major_ says you're _not_ a fool, despite what others may think. I recommend you not prove him wrong. Sir."

He watched as Klink pushed back from his finished breakfast, and gave himself a mental kick. This was not the way to mend fences… "You want that tour, Sir? So you can see what you're up against?"

The German sighed. "I suppose I ought to. Do you need to notify _Major_ Dekker?"

"No. Just let me get a couple of the guys and my coat; I'll meet you at the back door in five." Jim was up and out of Klink's office in a flash. He didn't understand it; _why_ was he practically driven to challenge the older man? He'd never given _Kimmich_ this much flak…

Just to be on the safe side he ducked his head into Dekker's office. «Herr Major? I'm gonna get a couple of the Guys, and take Klink on an outside Tour. Any Place you want us to go, or avoid, in particular?»

Dekker looked up from _his _paperwork. «He can go where ever he wishes; however, if he wants to go in among the Panzers, get one of the Soldaten as an Escort.»

"Yessir," Jim replied, somewhat surprised. Then again, Dekker had only ever wanted to know what was going on in his camp. So Brewster came to attention and saluted – an old habit, that – and turned to roust two more Hounds out of their warm quarters for a security escort.

They were waiting by the back door as promised when Klink arrived: Brewster, Perelli and Wilkes. The Hounds still took turns helping with KP these days, but only one of them each day, and only in the mornings; today was Connolly's turn. Dekker's _Englisch Kommandos_ did the daytime duty most days, while various _Amerikaner_ took the evening work. Initially uncertain about this arrangement, old Heinz the Cook had decided that these helpers were as welcome as the Hounds had been, so most everyone was happy. It let the Hounds get more exercise, to keep them in top condition.

Still, Klink eyed the three former commandos skeptically. He'd expected to find at least one guard with them, but they were seemingly free to wander at will. With a shrug he set his cap straighter on his head and pulled his gloves on, ready now to face the January cold.

Brewster led the way, the other two men falling back to flank the _Luftwaffe Offizier_. The blue-grey Greatcoat made a marked contrast to the unrelieved black of the Hounds' coats – unrelieved save for a band around their left cuffs, Klink saw. But the Hounds moved too quickly for him to get a good look at them then, so Klink made a mental note to ask about this later on. Suddenly a flash of brown shot past them, startling Klink and making him slip on a patch of hidden ice. Only Perelli's quick grab kept Klink from a hard spill.

«Easy there, _Oberleutnant_,» the Italian said softly. «You don't want to break any Bones out here… although the _Doktors_ here in Camp _are_ quite good.» He released Klink's arm once the German had gotten his feet under himself again.

Looking around, Klink found the source of his near-mishaps: a medium sized brown dog. It ran in circles around their small group, a brightly colored ball gripped in its teeth. Finally it stopped in front of Jimmy, dropped the ball, and backed up to wait in obvious anticipation. Nor was it disappointed, for the _Amerikaner_ bent to pick up the ball, then threw it for the dog to chase.

«That's Schatze, Major Dekker's Dog,» Perelli said behind Klink. «She really likes Brewster for some Reason, although she'll play with any of us.»

«I had been told there was a Dog… Do all of you speak German?» Klink asked, suddenly realizing which language was being used.

«Oh, yeah; only makes Sense, if you think about it,» Perelli laughed. «Best hurry, though; the Guards have the Main Gate open for us. We don't want to dangle too much Temptation in front of those Guys.»

They had been crossing a broad expanse of ground between the Farmhouse and a barn enclosed by tall wire-mesh fencing. There were several other buildings surrounded by the fence also; now Klink realized in surprise that _this_ was the Prison Compound.

«I'm told that this was just a Farm when Dekker got here, Sir.» Wilkes took up the running commentary, his German nowhere near as good as the others that Klink had heard speaking so far. «I helped put this miserable Fence up, with the rest of the Hounds. I'm the odd Man out – Regular Army, not SAS.»

«Yeah, we were kept in that Barn there, when we were first taken,» Perelli agreed. «Jimmy's always been in the House.» Oddly to Klink's ears, his escort didn't sound the least bit envious over what _should_ have been considered preferential treatment.

"I spent a couple a' nights out there with you guys," Brewster rejoined the conversation, then switched to German. «You'd best stay close to us, Sir," he advised their newcomer. "I think we've got all the dangerous Troublemakers weeded out, but it's better to take Precautions. Major Dekker was jumped once; we were lucky to get him out Alive.»

«What happened to the Men…?» Klink couldn't quite control his morbid curiosity, although he suspected what the answer would be. Former SS…

«Oh, Dekker shot the guilty Ones; most of the Rest went hungry until Suppertime for not trying to help protect him.» Brewster's off-handed answer shocked Klink nearly speechless. «That's when Wilkes was added to our Group; _he_ tried to help. No one else was hurt, though; Dekker _tries_ to be fair.»

Klink carefully kept his thoughts to himself after that as he was shown through the two barns and the large metal building that had been put up for the prisoners. There was nothing that he could see to complain about. The prisoners were clean and dry, their clothing in good condition. All the buildings were reasonably warm; all blankets – two per man, as per regulations – were fairly new and in excellent shape. No one seemed to be in any distress, or on the verge of starvation. Even the Swiss… «Are you anticipating an Inspection here?» Klink asked, for that was the only explanation he could come up with for these conditions.

«Nope. What you see is what they get.» Brewster sounded proud of that, and well he should be. «You want to see the newest Barracks?» He was very careful to give no indication as to the occupants, especially here in this compound.

Klink winced inside to think of women being kept in conditions like these. Perhaps he could improve things? So thinking, he agreed readily, and headed out the Compound Gates with his escort.

They had just cleared the gates when they saw the dog making a bee-line for the back steps of the old Farmhouse. Almost immediately the door opened, and Dekker stepped out, well-muffled against the cold. Brewster angled over to meet the _Kommandant_.

«We were just heading over to the new Barracks, Sir,» Jim announced, although their destination could have been easily guessed.

«Good; I am going there myself. You may accompany me,» Dekker responded with a distracted nod. «What do you think of this Dumping Ground so far, Klink?»

The older German clearly didn't know what to say. Any negative response could so easily be taken as criticism of the Camp's _Kommandant_, and that could be deadly. But he didn't want to lie…

Dekker sighed. «Relax, Klink. I am well aware that Conditions here are far from optimal. This Situation was originally set up so that I would fail… but I did not, in good Part due to my _H__ünde_. There is still much that we need, but I hope that my _Engländers_ will be leaving for their Homes soon. Then I will just have my potential Bondsmen here, to be settled somewhere else, eventually. I will be keeping some for myself, to work these Farms and care for the Livestock – do you ride, by any Chance? I have acquired several fine Riding Horses, along with the Farm Teams.»

They had been walking as they spoke, and had just come in sight of the temporary stables that had been erected to shelter the Livestock. Over the top of one stall door a fine, arrogant bay head emerged; Cossack whistled a challenge down the row of stalls. A second head, muddy-clay colored, blocky and ugly, was thrust out into the crisp morning air. This horse ignored the challenge, nickering instead at the POW who came down the row pushing a hand cart full of feed buckets. Czar Peter, as he was now called, definitely had _his_ priorities established.

Dekker could only laugh at the antics of the two stallions. «I could wish that Peter wasn't so ugly; his Manners and Temperament are so much more desirable than Cossack's»

«At least the Workhorses he'll sire will be easy to deal with,» Brewster observed with a tolerant grin. «I suspect that _that_ is more important than mere looks.»

«You **ride** that Thing?!!» Klink gasped as the horse referred to as Cossack spun and kicked at his stall door when his morning feed was brought. His groom dodged successfully, well used to his ill temper by now.

«It is much safer once you are on Top of him,» Dekker replied nonchalantly. «Still, I will replace him when I can; I do not wish to perpetuate that foul Temper of his – it is not normal for the Breed.

«But come, my Medical Personnel are to examine my newest… Guests… and I wish to be there in case of Problems. These Things have never gone smoothly at first, here. Tell me, Klink: what do you know of the History of these Women?»

«Very little, _Herr Major_," Klink said slowly. «Just that they were liberated from some Holding Camp in Italy.»

This statement was greeted with silence, letting Klink know that this was not the exact truth. He was wise enough to ask no questions, and so they continued on in silence until they reached the new Quarters.

Dekker looked around himself with growing irritation that eased only when Jimmy opened the outer door. The guard in the vestibule sprang up from his seat and snapped to attention; the major nodded in understanding and ordered him to resume his seat.

«Have the Medical Staff arrived yet?» Dekker asked the _Gefreiter_ on guard.

«_Ja, Herr Major_; they arrived only a short while ago,» the guard responded, thanking his lucky stars that he hadn't yielded to the temptation of sneaking a cigarette while on duty, since he was out of sight.

Dekker looked at the man thoughtfully, then nodded. «If the Ladies offer you warm Drinks, you may accept them. Limit your smoking, though, or step outside first; the Ladies might find the Smoke offensive. Pass this Word to your Reliefs.» Then he passed on through to the inner door, knocked twice, and entered followed by Klink and the three Hounds.

Most of the women were huddled around the nearest table, looking very unhappy. A blanket had been strung across the opening to the Senior Officers' quarters, said officer, the Lieutenant Colonel, stood rigidly in front of the blanket in a face-off with Dekker's _Sanit__ä__tsoberoffizier_ (Chief Medical Officer). _Hauptman Doktor_ Braun turned to face _his _CO with obvious relief on his face.

«_Herr Major_!» he greeted Dekker in frustration and with no salute, indicating his degree of upsetment, «The Oberstleutnant refuses to allow us to assess the Nurses. We _must_ do so, so that their Medical Records will be accurate and up to Date…»

«Enough!» Dekker snapped, then sighed and sought for patience as he turned to face the Lt. Colonel. "_Fräulein Oberstleutnant_, you must allow _mein Doktor_ to check out your vomen. Ve need this _für_ our recordz, not to perzecute your Ladiez. Unfortunately, ve do not havf any female perzonelle _hier_; you may go in az chaperone ivf you vish. I vill remain out _heir_, ivf you havf any komplaintz about the vay they are treated. I givf you my Vord az an _Officier und_ a Chentleman that they vill be treated _mit_ rezpekt (respect)."

"This exam is unnecessary! I can tell your Doctor everything he needs to know about each of my nurses," Lt. Colonel Sarah Peterson insisted stubbornly.

"You are not helping thiß, _Fräulein Oberstleutnant. _I havf asked you nizely to coöperate vith uz… Jimmy vill tell you how rare that iz _für_ me. Pleez do not make me bring guardz in to forze the ißue." Dekker was struggling to keep his temper in the face of this opposition. He did not want to start off their association with ill-feelings, but regulations had to be adhered to…

He turned on the _Doktor_ in anger. «What did you do or say to upset them?! They were cooperative when they came in last Night!»

«Why, nothing, _Herr Major_,» _Doktor_ Braun sputtered in surprise. «I had the doorway curtained off for privacy and got one girl in for an exam; she started to fuss and cry, and then this… this… _Offizierin_ dragged me out and refused to allow the exams to continue.»

Now that he knew what had started the problem, Dekker, listening, could hear very soft sobs coming from the direction of Colonel Peterson's quarters. He growled in irritation and started for the 'room' himself. The Lt. Colonel tried to step into his path, only to find herself seized gently but firmly by one of the black-clad men who'd come in with the major. Dekker continued forward, followed by one of the other men. This one muttered "I'm married" to the last, who'd clearly intended to follow also, but who stayed behind at that statement.

Carefully Dekker eased aside the blanket just enough to slip inside, Wilkes close behind. One of the Orderlies – young and very blonde – sat on the bed and cradled a sobbing girl, carefully wrapped in a blanket, in his arms. The young man blanched at the look on his Battalion Commander's face, but he resolutely held his ground. Dekker nodded at him, but did not motion for him to leave. «You are…?» Dekker asked, keeping his voice soft.

«_Sanit__ä__tssoldat_ Pötter, _Herr Major_,» the youth answered, giving a slight, reassuring squeeze to the girl in his arms.

«Who is this? And what happened?» Determinately Dekker smoothed the look of irritation from his face. This seemed to help the girl calm somewhat.

The medical orderly nodded towards the small table, where a pile of incomplete forms lay. Wilkes walked over and picked up the top-most page.

«This is Second Lieutenant Ellen Halley, Sir.» He paused as he continued to read down, then reddened and looked up. «She's, ahh… well, I think the Doc tried to do a… errr…» He gritted his teeth and gathered his composure before trying again. «According to her Records here, _Herr Major_, she's Pregnant. No doubt _Herr Doktor_ Braun decided to try to confirm that…»

«The Idiot!» Dekker snapped, his angry exclamation drawing the frightened eyes of Miss Halley up to his face. "Shush, little vone," Dekker tried his own hand at soothing the girl. "The _Doktor_ vill not try that again. I vill havf someone ovf _meine _men find a midvife to check you _für_ that. Vill that be better, _Fräulein_?"

Slowly she nodded, although she did not try to pull away from Pötter.

"Do you know ivf any ovf the otherz are also ekzpekting (expecting), _Fräulein_ Halley?" To his surprise, Dekker found it easier now to keep his voice soft and gentle. This was much like when he'd first gotten Schatze – she, too, had been so frightened, so… traumatized.

Again she nodded, then blushed as she suddenly hiccupped. A small giggle escaped her despite her upsetment. "Two others, I think, Sir," she whispered, barely audible.

"_Und_ kann you tell _Herr_ Pötter their namez, _Fräulein_?" Dekker gently pressed. "Or vould you prevfer ivf Obers…" He broke off suddenly and switched to English. "Vilkes, vhat iz the rank in _Englisch_?"

"You can just say 'Colonel', Sir – you don't have to specify 'Lieutenant Colonel' in general conversation," Wilkes answered, then smiled at the confused look sent his way by the girl. "I'm a POW, ma'am, and my Germans' not all that great yet, although I'm learning. But I've got a wife and kid back home, and another was on the way when I left to join up."

"Oh… Colonel Peterson would know for sure, Sir." Her voice was still barely to be heard, but she sounded a bit more confident.

"Thank you, _Fräulein_," Dekker said with a tip of his head. "_Und_ are you feeling vell? Or iz there something that ve kann get _für_ you, bezidez your Kommanding _Offizierin_?"

" 'm okay, sir. Can I go back to my bunk now, sir?"

"_Eine Moment, bitte… _one moment, pleez," he quickly translated, then looked over the form that Wilkes still held. Dekker glanced up at the medical corpsman again. «Do you know how to fill this out, Pötter?» he asked, switching back to German.

«_Jawohl, Herr Major_. It only needs one or two more Questions answered, since the actual Exam is to be postponed.» The satisfied look on the young man's face let Dekker know that he'd not approved of this in the first place. But the Corpsman was rapidly filling in spaces now, asking softly spoken questions and jotting down answers on the form Wilkes had handed him.

«Your _Englisch_ is very good, I see,» Dekker commented, trying not to sound accusatory.

Pötter looked up, startled and wary. «I… was a Medical Student in the United States, _Herr Major_. I came back Home after we took France. It was not easy; I had to go through South America, for the US had banned all Travel to Europe. My _Mutti_ was American, a Nurse in the first War. I grew up in Germany, though.»

«Gently, Pötter, you are frightening the _Fräulein_ again,» Dekker kept his voice soft still. «I think that _you_ will be the Liaison for these Nurses, since you have good _Englisch_. _And_ you seem to get on well with them. Our good _Doktor_ Braun needs… what is it… 'Bed-keeping Takt'?»

« That's 'Bedside Manner', _mein Major_,» Pötter chuckled at Dekker's attempt at humor, but quickly sobered again. «The _Herr Hauptmann Doktor_ has only worked with the Military, and a short Rotation at one of the _Jüdische_ Camps while in training.»

«Oh.» Dekker's face clouded. «_That_ explains it all. And is _Fräulein_ Halley _eine Jüdin_? Even _that _is no excuse…»

«No, _Herr Major_, she is Lutheran.»

Dekker's eyes hardened at that news. «Thank you, Pötter. See that _Fräulein Leutnant_ Halley is presentable, and helped back to her Bed. Then see that this Paperwork is filled out for all the Rest. _Fräulein_ _Colonel_ Peterson will chaperone, and will authorize – or not – any… intimate… Examinations. But _you_ will do those; I believe that _Herr Doktor_ Braun will have other Duties to attend to.»

«_Zu Befehl, mein Major_,» Pötter snapped to attention and held that position as Dekker left the room to confront Colonel Peterson.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She had stopped fighting, but the man holding her did not let her go until the German _Major_ came out of the curtained-off room, followed by the second man. She had heard nothing but soft conversation, yet even that failed to settle her worries. But the _Major_ ignored her at first, turning instead to the disgruntled doctor.

«_Hauptmann_ Braun, it is obvious that you waste your valuable Time on these Prisoners,» Dekker said thoughtfully , even though he was furious inside at the lies he was about to utter. «I do not see that they are worth more than the attention of an Orderly, or perhaps a Medic. It seems to me that the _Sanitätssoldat_ you brought with you should be able to deal with whatever _they_ think is wrong with them. They obviously do not value _your_ Expertise. So, rather than deal with a possible Riot, they can settle for your Underling. You may, therefore, return to your other Duties.»

To his relieved surprise, the _Doktor_ looked pleased. «_Danke, Herr Major_!» he said, then saluted and left, smiling broadly.

Now Dekker turned to the Nurses' Senior Officer. "_Fräulein Oberstleutnant_, I apologize _für_ the behavior ovf _mein Doktor_. I kann only say that he iz only ekzperienzed _mitt_… **vith** Military Perzonnel. The…" he paused and looked at Wilkes, sighed, then looked at Brewster.

«Jimmy, ask Wilkes what the Designation of the Medical Aide still here is,» he instructed in frustration.

Brewster grinned, then looked at Wilkes. "Ted, _unser Major_ wants to know what, exactly, the man left here is." He nodded as Pötter emerged, assisting the young Lieutenant out to her bunk. "Wait, I'll ask him myself." He switched back to German easily.

«_Soldat, unser Major_ wishes to know your Designation.» While polite, Brewster's voice exuded authority, and the young German responded as he'd been trained. He stopped in his tracks and braced to attention, although it was towards Dekker that he looked.

«_Herr __Major_, the _Englisch_ and _Amerikaner_ would call me a 'Medic' or 'Corpsman', Sir. Actually, I was nearly ready to start my 'Residency', or advanced _Doktor's_ training.»

«Very good, Pötter,» Dekker said, struggling to keep a chuckle restrained. «You may resume your Work.» Then he turned back to the woman before him.

"The young man, _Fräulein_, claimz to havf Medical training," Dekker explained carefully. "He vas going to _Sch__u__le_ in the… in _Amerika_, to be a _Doktor_. He had almozt reached …"

She cut him off. "I know what a 'Residency' is, Major. That does not qualify him…"

It was Dekker's turn to rudely cut in. "You vould rather a Man vhat only _Soldaten_ _und _aConzentrationCampz inmatez knew?" Dekker barely kept from shouting. "You vill akzept the personnel I azzine you, _und_ be grateful that help iz ovffered!" He turned on his heels and stamped out in a rage.

"Go with him, Ted, Perelli" Brewster urged, looking very upset. "I've been assigned to Klink today…"

"Gotcha. Later," Wilkes returned, the two men hurrying out the door after Dekker.

"Lady, you're playing with fire," Jim told the shocked Colonel. "If you weren't a woman, he'd probably have shot you right where you stand. _No_ one talks to Dekker like that, unless they outrank him, and frankly, ma'am, you don't anymore, no matter what your uniform says. He's gone to a lot of trouble to try to see to your welfare, a lot more than he had to. No one's disputing that you've been through Hell, but don't take it on him because of that."

She stared at him, as startled by his words as by the violent reaction of the German Major. Her gaze shifted to the other, older German officer still there.

"_Fräulein_ Colonel, I am O_bers… Oberleutnant _Wilhelm Klink," he said gently. "That is a Lieutenant First, in the American system of ranking. I am a _Luftwaffe_ officer, and the new Camp Administrator. As Senior Officer for these ladies, you will be the one coming to me with any requests or problems. I will do what I can for you, and try to run interference for you with _Major_ Dekker…"

She took a deep breath. "He has some temper, doesn't he?" she said as she let that breath out again with a sigh. "And you," she turned to face Brewster, "have one too. Pretty defensive, aren't you?"

"That's my job, ma'am. And why he calls me his Rottweiler. I'm his Pack Leader: Jim Brewster, former SAS sergeant; we met last night, briefly. Truthfully, he's holding onto his temper pretty well, all things considered. Right now he's pretty mad at _Herr Doktor_ Braun. I'll be really surprised if he doesn't get the man transferred out to some unit fighting in Russia, for the ham-handed way he dealt with you ladies. You don't want to get him madder at you, when he's trying to find you acceptable, competent, _compassionate _medical help."

She was about to object once more to the acceptability of the skill-level of the medical help offered when Klink interrupted.

"Excuse me, Colonel Peterson; do you think we could take this into your office? It would be better, for discipline's sake… Thank you." He waited until they had moved into the room before continuing.

"_Fräulein_, I had experience in POW Camps during the War," Klink began to calmly explain. "Being _Luftwaffe_ – Air Force, that is – we treated our prisoners better than most. Still, it was only the larger camps that had actual doctors in them. My camp only had a Medic; we had to send to town if we needed a real doctor. Army and SS-run camps very often didn't have even that, unless the Red Cross was coming to inspect. And the camps run by the Gestapo or SS… what I heard about those places… rumor said that their so-called doctors experimented on their prisoners, until the Gestapo and SS were disbanded and tried for crimes against humanity.

"But my point is that _you_ are being treated with exceptional care and courtesy."

"Actually, I don't think that Dekker knew about Braun's background, Brewster added thoughtfully. "He's a recent replacement for an old man who was retired and discharged. He did a decent job when we got a huge influx of prisoners last year, but he's never had to deal with women here. My guess is that Dekker is just as uncertain of how to deal with your young ladies as that _Doktor_ was, although he's trying to handle it better. I _do_ know that the Brits had a lot of Medics who were better, in experience, to handle emergencies and stuff out in the field than a lot of certified, licensed Doctors. Papers aren't everything, ma'am, as I'm sure you know."

"I know…," again she sighed, and looked off into one corner. "I guess it's just feeling so helpless. It was much worse in Italy, of course… perhaps it's the relief of being treated as human again; then that doctor came along…"

"Yeah," Jim agreed, nodding in understanding. "One minute you're thinking you're out of the woods, then you run head-on into a bear, with no trees to climb in sight.

"But Colonel-ma'am, _please_ try not to fight with the _Major_. He really does have your best interests at heart. He's a gentleman, when allowed to be one. He doesn't hold with abusing or raping women; he sees that his cook is always guarded carefully so the regular prison-guards don't bother her."

Brewster paused and turned to Klink. «She came out of one of those Concentration Camps for _Juden_, Klink. _That's_ why you were warned away from her. _He_ doesn't touch her… and that's because she's not his type, not because she's _Jüdische_.»

Colonel Peterson was trying to follow this side conversation, but it was hard, since she didn't speak German. "This cook he has – it's a woman?" she paused, seeing the men's nods. "I heard the term '_Juden_'. She's Jewish?"

Brewster sighed in resignation. "The _Major_ got her from a Concentration Camp, where the inmates are now being signed out as Companions, or Mistresses – don't judge or assume anything right now, ma'am, or you'll reach the same faulty conclusions that _I_ did at the time. Anyway, Dekker bought her clothes and stuff, and brought her back here to be his personal cook. He doesn't bother her; won't let anyone molest her. I know this for a fact, ma'am, because it's _my_ men who guard her. Their quarters are right next to her room, and we're all _very_ light sleepers. I suspect that if _she_ wants to accept someone's attentions, he won't interfere so long as it doesn't affect her work.

"He intends to treat you and yours the same way, if you don't fight him about the details. I can warn you now, though, that he'll do whatever he feels his duty requires him to do. And he won't let your ladies shoot his discipline all to He… well, you know what I mean."

She laughed as he caught his near-use of profanity. "Yes, I do believe that I know what you mean, Sergeant… no? Not sergeant. What, then?"

"Just Jimmy, ma'am. _My_ boys know who's in charge amoung us; that's all that counts. But please, ma'am, let the Medic do his job? He'll catch it from Dekker if he doesn't do _some_ sort of exam; it's for in-processing, to document what shape your ladies were in when they arrived. He has to do it; there are higher-ups that would love to nail his hide to the wall – Dekker, that is. Plus his past history is against him, no fault of his own, there. He tries to be a good guy, sort of."

She chuckled at the mournful-puppy look he'd managed to get in his eyes by that point, and nodded reluctantly. "Very well, I'll see what the girls can handle. Will that be acceptable?"

"Colonel, Ma'am?"

Peterson turned to face the Medic, who had another of the nurses at his side.

"_Herr Major_ Dekker has instructed that you are to be in the room as chaperone. Also, he is sending for a Midwife, to examine the ladies who might need the services of such eventually. I am qualified, but… he thought it might be easier on them. I hope you find this acceptable, _Fräulein_ Colonel."

It was hopeless, she saw. And they really were trying to be accommodating. "Oh, very well. Do what you have to do," she grated out, not very graciously, although the men affected not to notice her ill grace.

"Thank you, _Fräulein_ Colonel," Pötter said, then laughed. Do not worry that I will 'take advantage'. All you would have to do is complain to Jimmy, here, and they would find me in a dark corner somewhere… if I was lucky."

She looked at him intently, and realized that he was absolutely serious. But when she turned to see what Jimmy's reaction was, she found him gone. Only the Lieutenant, Klink, was still there.

"If that will be all, _Fräulein_ Colonel, I will take my leave also," he said. "Send for me if there is something you need, and I will try to get it for you. Good day, madam." He drew himself up with a sharp heel-click, gave her a bow, then turned and left also.

And truthfully, Sarah Peterson didn't know what to think, except that _this_ place resembled a Circus.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Sunday, January 31st, 1943

_Stalag_ 384

Gradually the camp settled into the new routine. Word _did_ get to the main compound about the presence of the women, but the men showed remarkable restraint, much to the disappointment of the guard who'd 'let word slip', hoping for trouble to develop. Word of this 'accidental' telling got back to Dekker though, and one more man found himself heading further east. _Doktor_ Braun had actually volunteered for duty in an active combat unit; his replacement was a wounded veteran who'd been only too happy to land duty at a well-run prison camp. Anywhere suited _Oberleutnant Doktor_ Schreiber, so long as he was out of Russia.

The weather, though cold, had turned clear, so Dekker started riding again, mostly to exercise the horses. He was exhilarated by the feeling of freedom that these rides gave him and knew that he would miss this once they were sent back to active combat duty once more. And much to his surprise, he realized that he would also miss Lt. Colonel Peterson.

Despite the way she had angered him, or perhaps because of that, Dekker made it a point to go out and check on his captive women every day. Sometimes Klink would accompany him; the older Prussian was only annoying when he tried too hard. Klink quickly learned to tone down his responses around Dekker, so they fell into a pattern of tolerance. But with or without Klink, Dekker was unfailingly polite as he inquired as to the health of Peterson's nurses. At first fearful of the stern-looking German, the women soon became more relaxed around him as they realized that he truly meant them no harm.

Even Colonel Peterson slowly warmed to their Keeper, going from sub-arctic to merely chilly. Dekker found himself intrigued by her, for she was like no other woman he'd had much contact with. In point of fact, she reminded him of… _himself_: Professional when dealing with Authority; quick to anger if she felt her people threatened or slighted; concerned for her people, even in adversity. _She _was the reason he went there every day; after two weeks he acknowledged to himself that he wanted her for his own. _Now_ he just had to figure out a way to win her.

Warm coats and new uniforms with winter boots arrived for the women, courtesy of Klink's expertise with paperwork, and his old connections. Granted it was all men's gear, but Dekker doubted that anyone would care so long as they were warm. Thus equipped, Dekker instituted daily outdoor exercise sessions for the women, unless it was snowing heavily. This was where he found them on this sunny – for the season – Sunday morning as he returned from a brisk ride. He was still mounted on Cossack, the stallion slightly better behaved immediately after an outing, when he passed by the Women's quarters and saw her. He'd known that he looked good on a horse, even bundled up in winter gear; the onlooking nurses' reactions just confirmed that.

"_Guten Tag_, Ladiez," he said as he reined the stallion to a stop. "I hope that I find you all vell today?"

"That's a beautiful animal, Major Dekker," Sarah Peterson said, her voice a bit harder than normal. "Who'd you steal it from?"

The wrongful accusation hurt more than he cared to admit. Carefully Dekker controlled his temper, holding up one hand to stifle Kevin's angry rebuttal.

"I vill freely admit that this horze iz stolen, _Fräulein, _although I am not theguilty party. I had azked _für_ Vorkhorzes, to uze to raize fresh food _für meine Gefangeneren…_ my Prizonerz. Vone ovf our Patrolz raided into Ruzzian territory _und_ found those, but vhile they vere there vatching, a Ruzkie patrol brought in Cossack here, _und_ hiz mares. _They_ sstole him from hiz owner; they vere going to kill them _für_ meat. Zo_ unser_ Patrol brought them along. Alzo _zwei_… two… cowz, _für_ milk.

"Should they havf been left behind, chuzt becauze I did not need them, or azk _für_ them? Good day, Colonel Peterzon," he finished stiffly, then he rode off, a man of ice. McKeigh rode after his _Major_ in silence, but he cast a deadly glance down at Sarah where she stood, numb with surprise at the vehemence of the German's rebuttal.

"Is that woman crazy, Jimmy?!" McKeigh was pacing, all but yelling in his anger at the uncalled-for verbal attack on Dekker. "Is she trying to provoke him into a reaction that will fit _her_ notions of what he should be?"

"Or is she trying to prove to herself that he couldn't possibly be a likable guy?" Connolly's voice added softly to the conversation. "Here, guys, I brought some fresh coffee." He poured all around, then set the pot down and settled himself in a chair with the others in the dining room. "She had it bad in Italy, fellas… you know that. She's still a prisoner; there's still no assurances that bad stuff can't still happen. _I_ think it's a form of self-protection."

"Mozt likely," Dekker's voice came from the doorway behind them. "Iz there sstill _Kaffe _in that pot?"

They had scrambled to their feet; now Jimmy retrieved the pot and filled the _Major's_ cup. "It iz vhy I levft there az I did; I needed to go, befür I... did something I vould later regret." He sat down among his Hounds, to their great surprise, staring into his cup in deep thought for a long moment. Then he looked up with an innocent expression on his face. "I vonder ivf she ridez?"

He waited until after lunch, then had Czar Peter and the small mare who'd been found with him saddled. The little cart horses were very gentle, and were surprisingly smooth rides. As ugly as Peter's head was, he was quickly making a place for himself in Dekker's heart… although Cossack was more of a challenge to ride. He was bringing Jimmy this time, to be mounted on one of the Don mares but with instructions to hang back at a discreet distance. And Dekker totally floored his Hounds when he handed Jimmy's American Colt automatic back to him, along with its holster on a web belt.

«I will not be able to protect her adequately if I am busy worrying about her staying on. _You_ are Bodyguard today; you will have to surrender the Pistol when we come back to Base, however,» Dekker explained. He expected the _Amerikaner_ to fuss, or at least look unhappy at being told that he would be disarmed again, but Brewster just nodded in agreement.

«I understand, _mein Major_; not all of the new Men know me, or trust us yet. You are correct; it will be better this Way.»

They walked down to the stables where the horses waited, and here it was Dekker who stopped in surprise. Wenigmann stood holding Brewster's chestnut mare, and there was a rifle scabbard buckled to the saddle.

«_Herr Major_, I know you have armed Jimmy. A Pistol might not be enough; with your Permission, I have a Rifle here for him also.» He motioned towards a Mauser short carbine that another soldier held, awaiting Dekker's response.

He wanted to object, but… he was, after all, giving the Hound the pistol. Brewster had claimed on several occasions that he was now Dekker's man; with a mental shrug the _Major_ nodded and forced a smile. «Good thinking, _Panzerschütze_. Go ahead, don't forget spare Clips of Ammo for it.»

Jim had noticed the slight hesitation, but didn't really blame Dekker for his caution. A pistol was one thing, especially since he'd been ordered to hang back. That rifle was literally putting Dekker's life into his hands, yet it could also be the means of saving his life. You never knew, after all, if or when some communist infiltrator might be about. He accepted the weapon with a nod of thanks, examining it carefully before placing it in the scabbard and securing the safety strap. Three extra loaded magazines went into the pouch secured on the other side of the saddle, then he checked the girth and mounted.

Dekker was already up when Jim looked around. He was leading the small mare after Czar Peter, who walked with his head up and a spring in his step. The little stallion loved the attention it seemed, and was going to make the most of it. His shaggy winter coat did nothing for his looks, being a muddy clay-yellow color, but by contrast the mare's darker brown body and nearly black mane and tail were actually attractive. Men and horses ready, they headed over to the Nurses' Barracks, where it was Jimmy who dismounted to go inside.

«_Guten Tag_, Felix,» Jim said to the guard on duty. «_Herr Major_ Dekker's Compliments to _Fräulein Oberstleutnant_ Peterson; please tell the _Colonel_ to dress warmly and come outside soonest. _Unser Major_ is waiting for her… but don't tell her that.»

«What's up, Jimmy? He isn't still mad at her, is he?» the guard asked in concern, for like most of the men assigned there, he had developed strongly protective feelings for all of his charges.

«No, he's not mad." Brewster smiled at the thought. «He means to take her riding. I hope she knows how; if not, she'll learn, just like we did.»

«He's not on that big Monster of his, is he?» Felix didn't look at all reassured by the _Major's_ plans.

«No, he's got Czar Peter – the smaller Stallion, and the little brown Mare for the Colonel. I suspect that she'll be disappointed in her Mount if she _does _ride,» Jim answered with a soft laugh. «You'd better go get her, though; Dekker's waiting, and _you_ know how long a Woman can take to get dressed. We don't want him coming in to drag her out, half-nekkid.»

«Oh, _mein Gott_, No!» Felix laughed back. "She will be right out.»

«_Danke_, Felix," Jim said, then went outside to wait with his _Major_.

She was surprisingly quick, Dekker noted in approval. She came out the door, not knowing what to expect, yet she still stopped in surprise at the sight of the _Major_, mounted, with a second horse on a lead-line.

"Komm," the German invited. "I vill show you around ssome ovf the farmz _hier_. The mare iz gentle; ivf you do not know how to ride, I vill lead her _für_ you."

"Aren't you afraid we'll be attacked by the subjugated Poles?" she asked rather nastily, trying to hide her confusion.

Dekker merely smiled and shrugged. "Not really. I am more vorried about Ruzzkie infiltratorz. But, that iz vhy _he_ iz also komming, _und_ hass a veapon." He nodded off to one side, and she followed his gaze to see one of those men in black mounted on another, albeit very fine, horse, a scabbarded rifle on his saddle. He gave her a bow from his saddle, then shifted his attention back to their surroundings. Dekker caught her attention once more. "I could not protekt you properly, you see, ivf I must vorry about you staying on your horze.

"_Do_ you ride, _Fräulein Oberstleutnant_?"

Sarah Peterson felt an odd sort of shiver at the question. "No, I don't," she slowly replied. "I'd always wanted to learn as a girl, but my mother thought it immodest; inappropriate for a young lady. It was bad enough that I flouted her authority to take nurse's training…" She gave a bitter laugh at the memory, and looked back at Dekker defiantly. "She said I'd come to a bad end, that only loose women did such things."

"She doez not know vhat she speakz ovf," Dekker declared, his anger rising at this unknown woman. "Nurzez are _gut_ vomen, who do only _gut für_ the ssick _und_ vounded." He paused and took a deep breath.

"But komm. Ivf you need help, the guard kann azzizt you to mount. I havf already checked the girth, zo you do not havf to do that, today."

She looked at the little mare doubtfully, for the animal looked quite large to _her_. But before she could refuse, the guard from the vestibule was outside and next to her, giving quiet instructions in such broken English that she had to laugh. Despite that, she found herself sitting on top of the horse before she realized it, finding it a wobbly perch until the guard got her foot-things adjusted to his satisfaction.

"Chust your feet _im die_ stirrups keep, _Fräulein,_" he said as his final instructions, then the horse moved and she frantically looked for something to hold onto.

Suddenly Dekker was there beside her horse, one hand out to steady her. "Gently, _Fräulein_. Chuzt relax; you vill not fall. Ilza vill not throw you, she iz a fery chentle (gentle) mare." There was no mockery in his voice, only gentle understanding.

"You hold tight _mit_ your kneez, not your whole legz. _Und_ then let the rezt ovf your body relax. Vonce you learn, you vill enchoy (enjoy) thiz, I am sure. I find a feeling ovf freedom vhen riding, like nothing elze givfz. I understand that pilotz feel the ssame, vhen they are flying."

He rambled on, the sound of his voice soothing until much of her tension had bled away. Slowly Sarah realized that the horse under her hadn't moved that whole time, and she looked at the German in puzzlement.

"Theze are farmhorzez, _Fräulein_; Vorkhorzez. They are uzed to standing _und_ vaiting, _und_ they are fery plazid beaztz," he explained with a slow smile. "They are ovften called 'cold-bludded' because ovf thiz; they are sslow to ekzite. The vone I rode thiz _morgen_, _he_ iz fery hot-bludded; mozt fine riding horzez are. They are fery rezponzivfe, but are not _gut für_ beginnerz. Many vill frighten easily, _und_ jump vhen you do not ekzpekt.

"I am going to lead Ilza now; chuzt stay relaxed, _ja_?" He moved to the mare's head and urged her to walk forward. Somehow Sarah managed not to make a sound. She tensed, but relaxed a bit when the horse just moved steadily and calmly.

"_Sehr gut, Fräulein Oberstleutnant_, you do fery vell," Dekker told her, feeling that encouragement now would be a good idea. "_Meine Hünde_ learned thiz vay alzo; _now_ they ride the good horzez, like Jimmy doez today. But I vill find you your _own_ horze, vonce you learn. _Und_ I vill _buy _it, not steal it, chuzt _für _you." He grinned, trying to show that he was teasing her, but she reddened in embarrassment anyway.

"Major Dekker, I shouldn't…" she started to apologize, but he cut her off gently.

"You vere strezzed fery badly, _Gnädige Fräulein;_ it iz already forgotten. Ve vill not speak ovf it again." He stopped the mare and smiled up at her. "You are more comfortable now? _Gut._ I vill remount Czar Peter then, _und_ ve vill take a ride. Tomorrow you vill learn more how to ride. _Eine Moment, bitte._"

Peterson _was_ a colonel; she managed not to panic when the German dropped the mare's lead-line and went to reclaim his mount from the door-guard who, she just realized, had been holding the horse while Dekker worked with her. Moments later Dekker was back and retrieving the lead rope of the mare… which hadn't moved from where she'd been left. She moved off willingly enough, though, when Dekker turned his mount's head away from the camp and started off at an easy walk.

An hour later they were back. Sarah had to admit that the snow-covered woods had been beautiful. Small animals – most likely rabbits – had left tracks across a broad field that they'd gone to, which stretched down to a large stream or small river, frozen over solid now. Dekker had proved to be very good company; although he was sometimes hard to understand due to his heavy accent, his command of the language was otherwise good, and he could converse easily over a wide range of topics. It had felt to Sarah as if they were the only two people in the world, so discreet was their escort. She had to admit that she'd enjoyed herself; this was far from her usual experience, although the place had reminded her of the northern Minnesota woods where she'd gone one winter with her church's youth group. The peace here was balm to her war-weary soul; it seemed to affect her escort the same way.

Strange as it seemed, she almost hated to see the German officer leave… and it was not because she had to go back into that cold barn of a building.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By Friday afternoon Sarah found herself climbing up onto Ilsa's back unassisted. She was holding her own reins now, and Johann – _Major_ Dekker, she rapidly corrected her thinking – no longer nagged her so about the position of her feet in the stirrups. She still had a long way to go, she could see _that_ in his eyes sometimes, but he was surprisingly patient with her. Yes, he was definitely a charmer, and Sarah felt herself slipping under his spell despite her better judgment.

They only went along the woods-trail this afternoon, as it was threatening bad weather. A companionable silence fell easily over them, and Colonel Peterson could tell that her captor was enjoying her company as much as she did his. Very odd, that, she thought. All too soon they were hurrying back to the horses' stables amidst cold raindrops, laughing at their reluctance to get wet.

He had a nice laugh, warm and open, when he let himself relax, she thought in amazement. Not cold and cynical, as she'd sometimes heard him laugh among his men. This observation she kept to herself as they turned their horses over to the two men who came to claim them.

"Vould you care to _komm_ up to the house _für _some _Kaffe_?" Dekker asked, hope clearly to be seen in his eyes. She hesitated, so he tried again. "I think that Anna haz ssome Strudel left; you should try ssome."

Anna… She had heard mention of this mysterious Anna several times before this. Maybe she _should_ go; she could perhaps meet this other woman. "Alright," she agreed before she could change her mind. And it was like the Spring had come early, in the brightness of Dekker's smile.

The path up to the farmhouse had been cleared of most of the snow; what was left was being turned to slush by the rain. By morning, this path would be treacherous with ice, for the slush would freeze in no time. Already the temperature was dropping, and snow was now mixing with the still-falling rain. Dekker's happy smile fell away once they got to the house, for a dispatch rider sat shivering in the kitchen next to the big cast iron range, trying to warm his nearly frozen hands on a mug of hot soup.

She saw the change in him. "Maybe I should just go back to my quarters," she offered reluctantly, not really wanting to leave just yet.

"No, _Fräulein,_ I vill be right vith you. _Hier_, havf a seat in the Dining room; I vill havf Anna bring you something varm. Vould you prevfer tea, _oder Kaffe_?" Even distracted he was determined to be a proper host for _her_. This was the first time she'd been willing to go anywhere with him, besides riding. _Why __**now**__ of all times did the High Command have to intrude on him? _he raged silently as he showed her into the dining room. He headed down the hall towards his own office, stopping when one of his Hounds stepped from the front office's doorway.

«The Dispatches are already on your Desk, _mein Major_,» Kevin said quietly. «Jimmy has gone to fetch _Oberleut'_ Kimmich for you – it looks like an Official Orders Packet.»

«_Scheiße_!» Dekker shook more water off his coat as he cursed, then he shed the garment into his waiting Bondsman's arms and continued on towards his office.

Kimmich was already waiting in Dekker's office. «_Mein Gott_, I _hate_ this,» he grumbled. «First they ignore us forever, it seems, _now_ we're the most popular Thing going.»

«We are close to fully manned and equipped, Sigmund; what do you expect them to do with us? They cannot let all of this Firepower just sit idle,» Dekker answered with a sigh. «Just pray that we are not being sent back to Russia.»

«Where else can they send us?» Kimmich retorted bitterly. «The Task Forces in Italy are making good Progress; we're well aware of that.»

«_Ja_, I know. But calm yourself, before Jimmy hears you and comes charging to my rescue again.» Both men chuckled at the memory, but the joke served to release their tension, as the _Major_ had intended.

At last he reached for the packet of orders. «We will not know until we look,» he said as he broke the seal and pulled out the enclosed paperwork. Frowning in puzzlement, Dekker read them over twice before looking up at his SIC.

«These are… strange, Sigmund,» he said as he passed them over.

Kimmich had to agree. Yes, the orders to hold themselves ready for Movement Orders, those were standard enough, if not all that common in time of war. But the orders to submit clothing requirements and sizes for all personnel attached to the Battalion… «Are they changing the Uniform Regulations?» the _Oberleutnant_ mused out loud.

«Or they are planning on sending us Somewhere that our currant Issue is not suited for," Dekker agreed with a scowl. «Somewhere tropical? We have adequate Cold Weather Gear. Although…» He grinned suddenly. «Kimmich, I believe that this Battalion is going to find that they have some Bondswomen attached to their Medical Unit.»

Kimmich stared momentarily, then laughed sharply. «What will you do if we _are_ sent to the Eastern Front, _mein Major_? _That_ is no place for a Woman.»

«I will detach them for Duty here,» Dekker replied with a shrug. «They must be getting very bored by now, the older Ones. The more recent Arrivals will no doubt need more Time to adjust.»

They had gotten more women from Italy: two groups, although much smaller ones than the first batch. Three had come five days after the first ones; seven had arrived just two days ago, these last from some of the southern camps. And rumor had it that the German troops were only about halfway through the camps. At least _these_ women were in nowhere near as bad shape as the ones who'd come with Colonel Peterson…

«I must go,» Dekker announced, remembering his guest. «There is nothing we can do right now, except send in our Personnel Lists with Clothing Sizes. We will send in Specific Instructions for our Bonds…People. I will discuss Uniform Designs with Oberstleutnant Peterson myself.

«Just recheck our Equipment readiness; we might as well draw up a 'Wish List' of Supplies while we are at it.»

"I will see to it,» Kimmich assured his _Major_ as he came to attention, saluted, then turned and left – after a quick nod to Brewster, who stood beside the door. Just _when_ the Bondsman had arrived, Kimmich had no idea. _You just can't hear the Man coming._

Dekker shook his head and grinned. «I'd say that Kimmich has come to actually trust you, Jimmy.»

«Only when I'm not snarling at him, _mein Major_,» the stocky _Amerikaner_ laughed back, then sobered. «I'll get all our Sizes down; you gonna want anyone else from the Compound? Those Brits are pretty reliable.»

«All of the British are supposed to be released, or I would agree with you.» Dekker said with regret. «They _are_ good Men; I believe that I will release them on the Condition that they come back to me if they should be in Trouble with their own Authorities – they _did_ help save my Life, and we were still at War at the Time. Someone could very well turn them in for that.»

«That's what I was thinking about,» Brewster admitted. «You want me to put it to them? As a Possibility, I mean? It might be better if they have Time to think that One over.»

«Perhaps later. Go and give Kimmich a Hand for now. I have no Idea if or when actual Movement Orders will arrive; it will be best if we are ready to move on no Notice.»

«_Zu Befehl, mein Major_… enjoy your visit with the Colonel.» And on that note Brewster slipped out the door, leaving Dekker sputtering behind him, caught somewhere between shock, outrage, and amusement at having his motives for that dismissal read so easily. Finally the German shook his head and went to join his guest in the Dining room.

She was sitting with a teacup beside her, talking quietly with Wilkes. It surprised Dekker, the stab of jealousy that he felt at seeing them together, but he got control of himself. Wilkes was, after all, married, therefore he was 'Safe'. What was _Fräulein _Peterson to have done, sit there all by herself, chasing away all other men? Anna had no English; Sarah had very little German. That left the Hounds.

"_Fräulein Oberstleutnant_, I am sorry to havf kept you vaiting," he told her, for that was only the truth. "I had meant merely to ovfer you ssome sochial relievf, but… something haz komm up that ve must dizkuz. At the moment, it iz not urgent, but this could change fery kvickly.

"Havf you been told about the… divfikultiez ssurrounding ssome ovf your Nurzez? Thoze who vere born _im_ _Amerika,_ I mean." He was trying to feel his way carefully here, because he truly did not want to upset her.

"I… understood that there was some sort of difficulty causing delays in repatriating us," she offered just as hesitantly, for she could sense bad news of some sort ahead.

"That iz vone vay ovf putting it." Dekker looked and sounded disgusted at that. "The _Engländers_ are holding up the return ovf both our Men held there, _und_ their People that _ve_ are trying to return to them. That iz part ovf the problem.

"_Für_ the rezt, the _Engländers_ do not vant _unsere Amerikanisher Gefangeneren_… our Amerikan POWs… returned to them, und they _kann nicht_ go back to _Amerika_. That is vhy I haf _meine Hünde, Fräulein_, or rather, vhy I havf kept them pazt the end ovf the Var.

"You, und ssome ovf your Ladiez, _kann nicht_… cannot… go back either. Und sso ve muzt find Employment, _und_ keeperz _für_ you."

"I don't think I like the sound of that, Major Dekker," Sarah began, feeling her temper starting to rise.

"_I_ do not like this situation mysself," he said, hoping to avoid an argument now. It was already far too late to avoid the issue. "But I am, how do you ssay it—_stuck vith it._ Still, rather than leavf you at the merzy ovf Strangerz, I havf thought to ovfer you, _und_ your fellow Kountryvomen, employment _mit meine_ Medikal Perzonnel. You vould be attached to mein Battalion..."

"As _your_ property?!! she huffed in outrage. "I don't _think_ so!!!"

He kept his hurt to himself, although he felt like he'd been kicked in the teeth. Did she find him _**so**_ repulsive, then? "I vill leavf the dessizion up to you _und_ your Ladies; however any who vish may sstay vith this unit, az I havf said. It vill be an individual dessizion. Pleez let your ladies know, _und_ get vord back to me ssoonezt.

"Good day, _Fräulein Oberstleutnant_." He drew himself up, bowed to her, then turned on his heels and left the room very stiff-backed.

She sat there, stunned that she'd said such a thing to him, and feeling oddly… empty inside. Wilkes just looked at her in disgust, though he said nothing. Moments later Jimmy appeared, anger hot in his eyes.

"I'll escort you back to your quarters, Ma'am," he said, although it took a massive effort to keep his voice civil.

"Jimmy, I didn't mean…" but she let her voice trail off, because at the time she _had_ meant exactly that, although she couldn't say why she'd reacted so strongly.

"Better leave it alone for now," Brewster advised her. _ Those two manage to bring out the worst in each other on a routine basis, _he thought with regret, for he hated seeing her hurt his Major that way. Dekker sure had had it bad for her, it had seemed. Now? Who knew.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She'd been escorted back, and everything seemed normal the next morning. _Oberleutnant_ Klink came by to do the morning check – a ritual that Dekker usually observed. Still, Sarah thought nothing of this change; obviously the _Major_ had other, more pressing things to see to. She started to realize that there might be a problem when no one showed up that afternoon for the daily riding lesson. She was angry at first, then hurt… and only then realized that Dekker, too, might have been hurt by what she'd said to him.

"Tuppence for your thoughts, Ma'am?"

Sarah looked up with a forced smile at Catherine Holbrooke, who'd become as close a friend as she'd allowed herself to have there. She was about to deny having any deep thoughts but suddenly thought better of it. "I suppose I'm just regretting some hasty words," she slowly admitted. "I don't understand why I get so …" Words failed her.

"Prickly, Ma'am?" Catherine suggested with a laugh, but she sobered quickly. "It's trouble with that Major, isn't it. You and he… Well, if I didn't know better, I'd say that _you're_ trying not to like _him_, and trying to make _him_ not like **you**. He does, you know… like you, that is. But something happened yesterday, so now he's avoiding you."

Sarah shook her head in disgust. _Whyever did Catherine have to be so perceptive? _"Yes, I believe you're right," she finally said. "There's a problem with our going home, and he offered…" Again she paused. This was embarrassing, for she hadn't told _any_one the bad news yet. "Wait, this is something everyone needs to hear. I'll tell all of you at once, alright?" she said, then went to the center of the room.

"Ladies, let me have your attention!" she called, drawing every eye to her. "I've been told about some problems the Germans seem to have been handed over us… over _all_ of their POWs. First, the British authorities seem to be blocking the return of prisoners both from English camps to Germany, and from the Germans back to Allied hands. That, apparently, is why we are _here_, instead of on our way home. Most of us, that is.

"The other problem concerns those of us who were born in the United States." Now she found herself at a momentary loss for words. She paused, drew a deep breath, then forced herself to continue. "I have been informed that we are not welcome back in England as repatriates. I will be asking around tomorrow to try to confirm this, but I can see no reason to have been told a lie about this matter. I have also been told that we will not be allowed to return to the States… by our own government."

The ensuing uproar prevented her from trying to say anything further. The noise drew their door-guard inside the barracks itself, although how he planned to stop a riot all by himself was a mystery to Sarah. Then again…

"_**Silence!**_" he thundered, and to Colonel Peterson's amazement, silence fell. "Now, vhat iz wrong _hier_? … Vone at a time, ivf you pleez." he raised his voice once more over the growing babble, then pointed at one young lieutenant who blinked and swallowed nervously. "You: tell me vhat vas said'" he ordered, then waited until she repeated what they'd been told just then.

He nodded in agreement. "_Ja_; all the _Amerikaner_ who came _und_ fought _für_ the _Englisch_ haf been declared… how do you say – Outlaw? Any who go back vill imprizoned be. So _ve_ haf kept many _hier_, who now work _für unser_ people. They are called 'Bondsmen'; their _Kinder_ vill be raized as free German peoplez."

They stared at him, stunned. Finally one dark-eyed captain looked over at Lt. Colonel Peterson. "Tell me, Ma'am: does whoever gave you _that_ news still live?" Strained laughter anwered the jibe, but tension was finally starting to ease.

And Sarah _almost_ smiled as she retorted: "He lives, but… well, let's just say that _my_ response is why I didn't go riding today. Never again, probably. Serves him right for blind-siding me with the news, although I _think_ he tried to give it gently." She had to give him that much benefit if the doubt, although she found it extremely difficult.

The guard snorted in amusement. "_Unser Major_ iz az 'chentle'(gentle) as _unsere Panzers_. Both go t'rough obstikels _mitt_-out evfen notizing them." His words brought more laughter, and the women dispersed once more to their own corners of the building, and their own ploys against boredom. Calm restored once more, he returned to his post out in the vestibule, a very thoughtful man.

Sarah found that she couldn't quite agree with that guard's assessment of Major Dekker. This whole week past, he had been as patient and gentle as anyone could have asked for. She shook her head and looked over at Captain Holbrooke, who had waited beside her.

"You know, Catherine… he wasn't that way with me. But I think you're right; I _was _trying to push him away, and I'm afraid that I might have succeeded… Oh, bother! I forgot to tell everyone the _rest_ of what he said; that was the part that concerns us the most, too."

"Ah, yes," Catherine laughed. "A true sign of love: forgetfulness."

"I _**don't love **__Him_!" Sarah snapped, then wondered at herself. This was the same type of knee-jerk reaction that she'd had at the house the day before. _Surely not…_

"As you say, Ma'am." Now Catherine didn't even try to mask her laughter. "But, what was it you forgot to tell us?"

"It concerns the Americans among us, which, unfortunately, includes me," Sarah admitted, a slightly sour look on her face. "I suppose he felt he was being generous… I hope. But let me reassemble the others here first."

"Oh, I'll get them for you, Ma'am," Catherine offered, then grinned. "You _will_ let me play 'fly on the wall', won't you?"

"It's no big secret," the Colonel protested, then sighed. "I suppose I should just do the announcement thing again, so no one thinks that there's anything underhanded going on. Hang on, then." Again she called them together, studying them carefully this time. Finally she sighed once more, then laughed softly.

"All of you made such uproar, you made me forget to tell you the rest of what Major Dekker had to say," she told her audience in a casual tone. "It doesn't concern you Commonwealth ladies, I don't believe, since _you_ have homes to be returned to. I feel confident that the Germans will eventually get you there, despite any opposition from the British authorities. For the life of me, I can't understand that. But the rest of the information concerns that 'Bondsman' program that the guard mentioned. Major Dekker has offered to 'attach' any of you American-born nurses to his Medical unit here if you wish, so you won't have to deal with strangers, as he put it.

"I will admit to reacting very badly to his offer at the time, mostly because it was such an unexpected topic. However, he _did_ say that this would be a personal decision for each of you; nothing the others say or choose will affect your own choices."

"So we'll be what, Ma'am?" one southern-accented voice asked, sounding very worried. "We'll be slaves to the Germans?"

"I'm not sure _what_ our actual status will be, truthfully," Sarah answered. I _do_ know that he has those men he calls his '_Hounds_'; they're Bondsmen, but they don't seem very…"

"_They're_ not very slave-like at all," Mary Haggerty laughed, breaking the tension once more. "They just act like soldiers with a trusted CO. I wonder if he'll extend the option of staying to the rest of us. I know that I've little enough to go home to; that was why I joined up in the first place."

"I don't know; it won't hurt to ask, I shouldn't think," Sarah said, and it made her rethink the situation over for herself. It was actually a good offer, she realized, and if she'd had some warning she probably wouldn't have reacted so badly. Now that she thought about it, she vaguely remembered them saying something about the Americans being stuck here, but there had been _so_ many new things going on around them…

"Just let me know if you want to stay with this group, or try your luck elsewhere. I'll pass your decisions on to the Major," she told them, meaning to dismiss them. Unfortunately one sneering voice rose over the softly muttered conversations of the rest.

"What about _you_? Are _you_ going to stay? That bloody Jerry seems awfully sweet on _you_."

Everyone turned to stare at the offender: Jessica Simon. _No surprise there_, Sarah thought in disgust. She let her distain for the snooty cat saturate her own voice. "Since, Leftenant Simon, _you_ are obviously not going to be affected by any of this, _I_ would say that my decision is _**None of Your Bloody Business**_, nor are the decisions of anyone else here.

"Does anyone else have any relevant questions? If not, I suggest that you give careful thought to your options. That will be all, ladies." Sarah turned on her heels and stalked into her quarters, pulling the still-hanging blanket across the opening in lieu of a door to slam.

Sarah didn't see Dekker all the next week. Oh, she looked for him, spending hours outside in the cold in hopes of catching him coming back from a ride. She even went so far as to ask the door-guards to call her if they saw the _Major_. But Dekker just as carefully rode out and returned to camp from the opposite direction. Peterson gave her nurses' decisions to Klink, since she felt it to be unwise to delay. _Her_ choice she'd wanted to tell Dekker personally; she felt that she owed him that courtesy after the horrid way she'd spoken to him. In the end, it was still _Oberleutnant_ Klink with whom she had to deal.

Then she was confronted with the problem of acceptable uniforms for the nurses who were staying with the 384th. All seven American women being held there had chosen to stay, including the two who'd just arrived at the beginning of the week. Design considerations had never crossed Sarah's mind before this, but it was apparently of great concern to the Germans. Everyday work uniforms did not seem to present a problem. White blouses or shirts over grey work trousers were Dekker's idea of appropriate wear, according to Klink. Sarah had no problem with this; all of the women had gotten used to wearing trousers on duty simply because it was easier (and safer for them, surrounded by all those men). Light grey pullovers or cardigan sweaters would be an acceptable addition on especially chilly days or night-duty. Obviously the new Bondswomen were not to wear all white, no doubt to distinguish them from German nurses, should they be working with any in the future. Also, white scarves were to be worn over their hair while on duty, much in the manner of peasant women. They would be allowed to embroider edging designs on these if any wished to do so, but only in black or shades of grey. Sarah still had no problem with this; she equated the headscarves with the Nursing Caps they no longer possessed.

The problem was their 'Dress Uniforms'.

It had rapidly become established custom that any Bondsmen attached to military personnel would wear a uniform that reflected their Superior's branch of service in cut and style, and their own former service branch in color. Dekker's Hounds wore Panzer-cut tunics in Commando black; this was logical enough to Sarah. She was unsure, though, about _white_ panzer jackets over pale grey trousers or skirts. It just didn't make sense to her; the color mix felt… backwards. Finally she gave up trying to explain this, and just said "It will look _so_ much nicer if the _jacket_ is pale grey and the skirt or trousers are white. Besides, _Herr Oberleutnant_, we're _Ladies_; we're _used_ to keeping white things clean. White pants, especially for good wear, won't be a problem. Besides, our civilian uniforms were totally white."

This was an argument that Klink did not think he could win – to his thinking, the phrase 'female logic' was an oxymoron. So he went back to Dekker, although he cringed mentally when he repeated the Lieutenant Colonel's 'logic'. Dekker just smiled to himself. This matched his own opinion, but he had suggested the colors reversed just to see what Colonel Peterson would say or do. She had 'yielded' to him by deciding to stay with the 384th after all; it would hurt nothing to let her have her way in this. She would feel as if she'd 'won', even though it really was what he'd wanted anyway. She would never know that though, for he hadn't even told the Hounds. The nurses would look good standing beside his Hounds; they would be paler, gentler contrasts to the Black and Dove-grey of the Bondsmen's dress uniforms. Dekker smiled, contemplating the picture in his mind.

«That will work, Klink,» he said contentedly. «The Women will wear white Blouses with that also. I think they may have regular Caps for their Duty Uniforms, when they are not actually working with Patients; Field Caps for that, but Peaked Caps for their Dress Uniforms, just like the Men. Is there anything else?»

Now Klink looked close to panic. «Well, Sir, as a matter of Fact, there is…» He swallowed convulsively; with resolution he gathered what little courage he had before continuing. «You see, Sir… Two of the Commonwealth Nurses have requested that they be allowed to stay also. One claims that she has nothing to go back to; the Other says that she is the _Oberstleutnant's_ Friend, and that _Colonel_ Peterson _needs_ a Friend here… Sir.»

Dekker looked thoughtfully at Klink. «They are British?»

«No, Sir… well, not both. One is; the other claims to be Canadian." Klink tried not to jibber too badly through this explanation.

«Interesting… You may tell them that I have taken this Matter under Advisement. I will see what my Superiors have to say about this." Dekker paused, then added: «You may also tell them that, if it is left up to me, I will allow them to remain – but they will be Bond, like the Others. Ummm, one of them **isn't** that Simon Woman, I hope?»

«_No_, _Herr Major_!» Klink was quick to assure his CO.

«Good; _that_ wretched Woman I might make an exception for, and shoot if she stayed here.»

«_Herr Major_, it is totally against my Principles to harm a Woman,» Klink said, but added with great fervor: «But I'd hold _**her**_ _for_ you!»

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On Sunday afternoon Sarah received both a pleasant surprise, and a major disappointment. After a quick knock, the door-guard entered and requested that the _Fräulein _Colonel dress for riding. She didn't think to question further, just changed quickly into the old pair of riding breeches that Dekker had found for her somewhere. The air of eager anticipation that she'd felt was squashed like a deflated balloon when she found not Dekker but an unknown young _Leutnant_ waiting outside for her, along with Connolly.

"Afternoon, Ma'am," the Hound greeted Sarah. "_Unser Major_ decided that your riding lessons should continue, since you were doing so well and seemed to enjoy it. This is _Leutnant _Karl Doebrich; his English is spotty, so I'll be coming along to translate for him. Perelli has roving guard today."

She nodded to the young _Offizier_ distractedly, then looked around. Sure enough, there was Perelli off at a short distance, mounted on one of the 'good' horses and carrying a rifle. She couldn't quite hide her disappointment that Dekker seemed not to be around… not that she really blamed him. But how was she to apologize to the man if he avoided her so successfully?!

With a resigned sigh she went over and petted placid little Ilsa, then checked the girth the way the Major had showed her. She pulled down her stirrup irons and gathered the reins, then did a credible job of mounting. _Leutnant_ Doebrich was grinning in approval, she saw when she swung the mare around to face him.

«_Gut. Wir gehen_.» He turned his mare's head – he and Connolly were both mounted on the better horses – and headed out towards the meadow where many of her lessons had taken place. That needed no translation, so Sarah fell in behind her new teacher. The joy she felt at earlier lessons was definitely missing today.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

«How did she do, Karl?»

_Leutnant_ Doebrich looked at his Major and couldn't quite hide his grin. «Technically, _mein Major_, she does well. But I would venture to say her Heart was not in the Outing. She came out the Door with a Bounce and a Smile, but it died once she'd looked around at who was there… and who was _not_ there.»

«She was looking for _you_, Sir,» Connolly added, his face lacking the smile of his companion. «It's obvious that she misses you. _I _think the other Day…» He fell silent as Dekker raised one hand in warning. _Jimmy_ might be allowed such liberties, but not the rest of them. Connolly gave a slight bow of his head in acceptance of this fact; this was one subject that was off-limits.

Dekker continued to avoid the women all that following week. Truthfully, he and Kimmich were too busy going over organizational details and supply lists to worry about them. The most thought he gave to the new bondswomen was to order ID bracelets purchased and engraved with their numbers – recent regulations declared that bondswomen were not to be tattooed – and to have them assigned working shifts at the hospital tents. That was, after all, the official reason that they were staying with the unit.

For all intents and purposes, the week was quiet. True, they _were_ sent four more nurses from the southern groups, but this caused no problems. These women were _Australierinnen__, _and could be sent back with the rest of the Commonwealth personnel. The biggest excitement came with the trucks of the weekly supply run, for the new uniforms for Dekker's bondswomen had been included.

The _Major_ went down to the nurses' quarters for that, for it was necessary that he check the quality of the new gear for himself. There were standard issue dufflebags and field packs, a standard issue of blankets, and mess and personal equipment. There was the normal initial issue of Duty-uniforms for new _truppen_, if in unusual colors… the only departure from the norm was the inclusion of both a skirt _and_ trousers for the Dress uniforms, along with sturdy shoes and white cotton stockings instead of boots and knee socks for Dress. Someone had even remembered to include Dress gloves. Dekker could only approve of whoever had assembled this order, for nothing had been forgotten, not even combat helmets, equipment belts and Officers' holsters for the women, although _those_ drew some concerned looks from the intended recipients.

With an evil smirk Dekker assigned Jimmy's old friend _Panzerschütze _Wenigmann to teach these bondswomen the approved method of packing their gear. He left after assigning that – to his way of thinking, thankless task – and went back to his own duties… by way of the stables and a long ride, accompanied by Wilkes.

On Saturday Dekker received a phone call that had Kimmich and him celebrating: the last POW camp in Italy had been liberated despite surprisingly heavy fighting, and _they_ would be sent no more women. Life could get back to 'normal', Dekker thought as he opened one of several bottles of good wine at dinner that night. He had broken with his usual customs, and had invited _all_ of his _Offizieren_ in to dinner. He just prayed quietly that the _Unteroffiziere _could handle any trouble that might come up that night, since there was no telling how well his senior men would react after drinking.

He even went to the weekly Sunday service given by his Battalion Chaplain the following day, although he was not really a Believer any longer. His _Mutti_ had taken both Mannfred and him to church as very young boys, but the years growing up in that Military Orphanage, and his subsequent SS training had not allowed for any religious observances. The only religion _they_ had taught was hatred for all things not Aryan, and reverence for Hitler. Dekker liked to think that he'd overcome most of that prejudice, but he still couldn't find it in himself to believe in what little he understood of the minister's rambling sermon. Part of the problem, no doubt, was the fact that he wasn't really paying attention… But many of his men _did_ Believe, being either Lutheran or Catholic, and he could see that it pleased them that he'd come to the service.

Monday mid-morning found the camp looking like an anthill had been kicked over, for Movement Orders had come for them at last.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

February 22nd, 1943

_Stalag_ 384

_Major_ Dekker stretched and rose from his bed, pausing to grin down at his companions. He definitely appreciated the warmth they gave him at night; after the previous winter outside of Moscow, he no longer enjoyed the cold. Waking to find himself sandwiched in between Schatze and Jimmy was _much _better than a cold bedroll in a drafty tent. When they'd been lucky enough to have even _that_ much comfort. He'd used to enjoy skiing and other winter sports… but not anymore.

He nudged his _Hund_, the dog opening one eye to look reproachfully at him. She stirred also, stretched and jumped down from the bed as Dekker's bondsman finally opened one eye to repeat the dog's mournful look.

«You know, _mein Major_, I hate _Appell_,» Jim groused as he threw back the covers and padded across the cold wood floor.

«It is not _my_ favorite Time of Day either,» the German returned, sounding terribly aggrieved. His grin belied his tone of voice though, as he gathered his clean uniform and headed out the door, Schatze scooting out as soon as it opened and nearly tripping her Master. Brewster could only chuckle and shake his head as he gathered his own things and settled to patiently await his turn for the facilities. If he were fast enough, he knew he would beat Kimmich; the _Oberleutnant_ hated rising early even worse than the American. How Dekker did it Jim didn't know, but the _Major_ rarely showed any signs of dragging in the mornings.

Soon the German was back, washed and freshly shaven, and his bondsman slipped out for his own turn. Sure enough, he got into the bathroom and slid the lock shut just as he heard the Second-in-Command exit the room next door. Jim grinned again; Kimmich was rarely fast enough to get into the bathroom before him, and had to wait. Still, he was never late for _Appell_ despite that.

A cup of fresh _Kaffe_ waited for him when Brewster reached the kitchen. Anna was up also, starting breakfast preparations, and she had a warm smile of greeting for Jim along with his drink. They would all eat, once the Germans had assured themselves that no one had been stupid enough to try to escape. It was all routine now, and even the prisoners in the compound seemed comfortable with it as the Brits waited to be sent home. _Odd, the things you could get used to_, Jim thought as he followed his Superior out into the early morning cold backed today by Connolly. None of the Hounds went into the compound armed, yet no one doubted that they would be deadly should any of the prisoners threaten the _Major_.

As usual, they reached the compound gates just as the actual count was starting. Within five minutes the report was given: all present or accounted for. Final salutes were given and returned, and the men were dismissed to retreat back into the warmth of their quarters. This allowed Dekker and his party to return to their own warmth. All in all, it was a normal day, nice and boring in its placid routine.

Breakfast was leisurely, as they watched Klink come in from the nurses' quarters and _Appell_ there. Nods were exchanged when the older man entered; Dekker had decreed that his officers were _not_ to salute when they came in for meals. Jim had to hide a smile as he thought how the Germans had relaxed since the end of the 'Western War'. Desultory conversation over breakfast followed, then the last of each man's _Kaffe_ was swallowed. The _Offiziere_ rose from the table and headed for their own offices, leaving the bondsmen to fill their time how they would; they would be summoned if needed.

At 0930 all of this routine ended, when a dispatch courier came in, stamping the snow from his boots. Jim though that those tracked motorcycles (_Kettenkrad(1)_) looked really odd, and they had to be murderously cold for their riders, but they _did_ get through all this mud and snow. He helped the man pull his gloves off by the big cast-iron range in the kitchen, then brought the closed dispatch bag to _Gefreiter_ Jäger in the front office.

Five minutes later Dekker could be heard calling for Kimmich; moments later Kimmich was out of his Commander's office like a shot, pulling his greatcoat on as he moved. He paused long enough to settle his cap on his head, then headed out the back door still buttoning it up. «_He_ wants you, _Hund_!» the _Oberleutnant_ called back over his shoulder to Brewster moments before the door closed behind him. Jim never heard the latch catch, for he was moving towards Dekker's office just as quickly.

Orders passed rapidly from that office after that. The bondsmen packed their meager belongings quickly, then Jimmy and McKeigh headed out to the prisoner's compound. Klink had already left to see that all the nurses were packing properly for a permanent move. _A shame,_ Jimmy thought; _All that work to put up that building, and it was to be abandoned now. _He shrugged the thought off, concentrating on his current task.

Most of the 'common' prisoners tended to ignore the Hounds these days, having finally accepted the fact that the Americans had had very little choice. Brewster looked around until he spotted Private Swanson. "Andrew – where's George?" he asked, keeping his voice down but not in such a way as to attract attention from the others confined there.

"Don't know, truthfully. What d'ya want 'im for?" came the laconic reply. Swanson had never really cared for Brewster, and now he suspected… well, he didn't know _what_ he thought, with all the sudden activity outside the prison-wire.

Jim wasn't about to be distracted. "Go find him, then the others. And be sharp about it!" the American said, his voice nearly a growl.

About to talk back – Brewster _said_ he wasn't in the army any more – Swanson suddenly remembered where he was, _who_ Jim was, and who Brewster answered to. It was that last fact that sent him into the heart of the old barn in search of Corporal Mathers, the senior surviving member of the English commando team.

While he waited for Mathers to come, Jim found the Senior British Officer for the compound. "Group Captain Cunningham? _Major_ Dekker's compliments, sir," Jim said as the English pilot raised one eyebrow at being sought out this way by one of the German's… Hounds.

"What can I do for you, Brewster?" Cunningham had gotten used to thinking of the Hounds by their names instead of by their former ranks, as had most of the other prisoners.

"_Major_ Dekker sends instructions that you and the other Barracks Chiefs are to select fifty men – all Commonwealth, no commandos – to pack and be ready to move out. The 384th has movement orders to entrain and head west; Dekker's bringing those men back to England with his unit. Your government is _still_ causing delays… but I don't think that anyone will argue with Dekker's Panzers. More will go as the opportunities present themselves. We leave first thing tomorrow, so have 'em ready to go right after _Appell_, sir. I'll be by to get your list of names later this afternoon."

Cunningham was stunned. No one really believed that they'd get to go home from here… it was all just Jerry's propaganda, wasn't it? But now – "You sure he's not going to just take them down the road and kill them?" He'd managed to assemble enough wits to ask that, then paled as he realized what he'd just said, and to whom. But the bondsman just grinned.

"No sir; not the _Major's_ style. If he meant to kill them, he'd do it here, in front of everyone. Believe me, sir: he _doesn't_ hide stuff like that.

"Just have 'em ready. _Major_ Dekker doesn't care how you pick 'em, or who goes, barring the already stated restrictions."

"Why no commandos?" the Group Captain wanted to know, his suspicions rising again.

"He didn't say, sir… but _my_ thoughts are that he wants as few problems as possible on this trip. He's taking all the nurses back to England with us."

"Oh, I say!... Yes, I can see… I'll make _sure_ that any potential problems are _not_ sent along." It all made sense now, and the Englishman was in full agreement, for once, with his captors.

"I appreciate that, sir… and so will everyone else. If you'll excuse me, sir?" Jim knew that it didn't hurt to be polite, and Cunningham wasn't a bad sort. He actually had a brain, and wasn't afraid to use it, unlike some aristocrats that Brewster had had the misfortune to run into. He smiled and left at the officer's nod, and went to see if George Mathers had been found yet.

Corporal Mathers and the _Englisch Kommandos_, as Dekker called them, were waiting with Connolly by the main entrance to the barn. They were already dressed for the Outdoors; Mathers smiled at Jim's brief look of surprise. "We figured the Major'd some job for us, so we'd have t'go outside. No reason t'make him wait any longer than necessary."

"Good thinking," Jim agreed, glad that _he_ didn't have to come up with an excuse to get this group off by themselves. There could very well be some loud voices in the near future, after all. "This way, gents," he added as they all headed out towards the compound gates, shadowed by two guards.

He took them to the out-building – a former garage – that he'd been chained in so many months ago. The old rusted truck-body was still there, more rusted than before – although that could be just his memory playing tricks on him. They went inside, lighting a lantern, then closing the door behind them.

"All right, Brewster, wot's up?" Mathers demanded, knowing that this was no work detail.

"Pull up a piece of ground, fellas; this could take some explaining."

"The _short_ version will do nicely, thanks," Corporal Samuel Higginbotham cut in, impatient as ever.

"Okay. This unit – Dekker's 384th – has orders that will take them through England. He's taking some of the guys back with us, to be released. But he's offering you chaps the option to stay with the unit, as Bondsmen." Jim paused, waiting for the yelling to start.

Silence greeted him at first, broken finally by Mathers.

"Did he say _why_ we might wish to do this?" the English corporal asked, his voice under tight control.

Jim nodded. "There're a couple of reasons, actually. He appreciates you men; if it weren't for the fact that all the English… hell, all _Commonwealth_ forces are to go home, he'd just keep you outright. The problem you have is that you helped us keep him alive when that idiot of a Sergeant-Major and _his_ buddies tried to kill the _Major_. Someone might just turn you in over that, since you were still at war at the time."

"That could be a bit of a sticky situation," Higginbotham agreed slowly. "Still…"

Jim didn't think as he spoke, the phrase was such a common thought by now. "_Mein Major_ plans to take you men back with us and release you, with the proviso that you be returned to him if charges are ever brought against any of you for that. I just thought that you should have some advance warning – time to think it over without it being sprung on you.

"You should be aware that two of the Commonwealth nurses have petitioned to stay with this unit, to stay with their American-born senior officer. High Command has decided to allow it, and has come up with a 'Declaration of Intent' form for anyone else who might wish to stay also, so there _is_ a precedent for it."

"We'll… think about it. Right, chaps?" Mathers said, looking around at the others.

"That's all I wanted," Brewster admitted. "No one has to make a decision today; it's not all or nothing, either. Any or all of you would be welcome to stay. As I said, _mein Major_ appreciates you. Either way, you'll need to get your gear together and packed: this unit moves out right after _Appell_ tomorrow morning."

"Beastly time of year to move out," Private Timothy Waters protested.

"Hmm. I don't think that High Command particularly _cares_ if it's hard on us," Jim laughed. "_They're_ all warm and comfortable in Berlin. We'll make it through, though. And at least this unit's not heading back to the Eastern Front – these men all speak Russian now, they've spent so much time there."

"Thanks, but no thanks, mate!" Mathers laughed at that. "This is as far east as _I_ care to go. At least until it warms up a bit, that is."

"Couldn't agree with you more. Best if you went back to pack your kits now; the guards are probably getting concerned over what's being plotted in here," Jim remarked, only half-joking.

"Right. Off we go, then. See you at _Appell_ tonight, Brewster," Mathers said as he herded his squad back out into the cold. They definitely had a lot to think over, as Jim had said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_Trust the Germans to run to schedule_, Jim thought with a laugh. Bright and early Tuesday morning, despite a cloud-covered sky, the first of the Panzers rolled out of their old encampment, heading north-west towards Warsaw. For some reason unknown to _him_, German High Command had decided that they would entrain at the freight yards there, instead of at the closest station. Jim's best guess was that they decided that the local facilities wouldn't hold up to the weight of a Panther – those _were_ big monsters; at just under 45 tonnes they were definitely no light-weights. Still, that left them with only three days to cover the mud-choked miles between the farm and the closest big train yard.

Already four of the supply trucks had bogged down, and were being towed by the big tanks. Brewster could see _Major_ Dekker trying to control his irritation, and didn't really blame the battalion's commander. The driver of the first truck was to blame, a wet-behind-the-ears conscript who barely spoke German. His carelessness and inexperience with his vehicle chewed up the road, leaving a nearly impassible morass and fouling up his transmission. The next three trucks got caught in the mire due to no fault of their own; the rest of the supply train was routed to the other side of the tank tracks. They could only hope that the ground was firmer ahead, for the big tanks made a mess of the best roads. It was going to be a _long_ trip at this rate.

Most of the infantry support troops were on foot, as were the POWs going to England with them. These men were under only a light guard; why would they attempt to run now? The medical staff marched part of the time also. Even some of the women were walking, although truthfully Jim was surprised that more of them weren't; Dekker didn't seem to be prone to favoring _any_one. The only women who marched at all, though, were the ones who would be staying with the unit. Brewster could feel his anger rising at this discriminatory treatment…

«It is not _my_ doing, Jimmy,» the _Major's_ voice was soft behind him. «I would have let the Women all ride, but the _Fräulein Oberstleutnant_ found out that mein _Sanitätssoldaten_ march part of the Time, to keep them tough. _She_ insisted that her Nurses do so also, if not quite as long as the Men. It is for the Best; we may not always have adequate Transport available.»

«Am I that transparent, _mein Major_?» Brewster had to chuckle at being caught out this way.

«Only because I know you, _mein Hund_. You get… _rigid_… when you are indignant over Something. I was afraid that a sharp Bump would shatter you, so stiff were you when you saw those Women on Foot.» The German had assumed a teasing tone, pleased to see his Bondsman begin to relax now.

«You will note that the Others all ride.»

«Yep. And some of them are poking fun at the Marchers,» McKeigh's voice was contemptuous as he cut into the conversation.

Dekker scowled. «Is that 'some' or 'one', Kevin? That sounds to me more like that Simon Woman than the Others.»

«Guilty as charged, _mein Major_; you got it in one. Of course it's just her,» McKeigh admitted, then grinned. «The Rest are sitting as far away from her as possible. It's like they don't want to get contaminated by her… or caught by the Blood-splatter when you've been pushed too far, finally.»

Dekker was relaxed as he smiled and nodded. «It just proves that Women are sensible Creatures, by and large. Pull _her_ out, Kevin, and make her walk.» Dekker had an unusual glint in his eyes, Jim noted… _wicked mischief?!!_ But the German just continued blithely, «If she refuses to walk, tie a Rope to her and let her be dragged a bit if necessary. I can stand a little anger from _die Schweizer_ for abuse of _that_ One, and the Rest will no doubt find some Amusement in her Discomfiture.»

«They'll be glad to be rid of her for a while, Sir,» McKeigh confirmed, then left to carry out his _Major's_ bidding. A short time later Jim heard a squawk of first indignation, then shock. The laughter of other women told the tale: she had resisted the order, and was now suffering the consequences.

It was not allowed to go on very long; Dekker called a halt after twenty minutes, and let the mud-smeared woman ride once more. Her glare said that they'd not heard the end of this, but Dekker wasn't concerned. Colonel Peterson looked pleased, and that was good enough for the German.

Despite the mud, the column made decent time, reaching their intended stopping place just before full dark. A mid-sized village, the Germans took over a number of barns and storage buildings on the north edge of town for bivouac space overnight. Sentries were posted, an impromptu field kitchen was set up, and foodstuffs were purchased from the nervous villagers. These people had seen German soldiers come through here once already, which had been bad enough; the SS and SA forces that had followed the Regulars and Waffen-SS had been exponentially worse. The people had no idea what _these _troops would do, and so they feared the worst.

Dekker, however, had firm control of his men. His lieutenants knew that _they_ would suffer the consequences if anyone in their units 'embarrassed' them, and the men… well, they knew that the _Major_ always had _**lots**_ of ammunition... The officers took over the local tavern, and placed all the spirits within off limits for all, themselves included. The nurses were brought in for hot meals, then sent upstairs to the few poor rooms available for the night. Their usual door-guards took up posts at the foot of the stairways unbidden, making Dekker smile to see this. The Tavern-keeper and his family wondered at this but kept quiet, asking no questions. They wanted as little notice from the Germans as possible.

And in the morning, early, the Battalion was up and gone again before the sun had fully risen. The villagers heaved huge sighs of relief and offered up prayers of thanksgiving that they had been spared once more, and hoped that the Germans would come through their village no more.

This day was much like the first, but the roads were much better now. No trucks needed towing, the damaged ones having been repaired overnight, so the tanks were able to maintain a decent – for them – road speed. The accompanying infantry switched out riding and marching more frequently to help the men keep up, and so , by pushing the pace this way, the 384th managed to reach the outskirts of Warsaw early the following afternoon. Everyone was glad, for there were established transient barracks here for the men to move into. They had spent the previous night on the sides of the road, trying to keep warm in hastily erected tents. The women had been crowded into three trucks, and had to sleep in shifts due to the limited space. Dekker's bondswomen actually had more comfort, for they shared two tents among themselves, and were no worse off than the rest of the medical unit, unlike the women going back to England.

Dekker was actually smiling when he returned from the Garrison Commander's office. «We will have hot Meals tonight in the Mess, and hot Showers for everyone,» he told Kimmich. «The good News is that we will not start loading until tomorrow Morning, so everyone can get a full Night's Rest first.»

«Ah, good!» Kimmich agreed. «We will have fewer Accidents that way…»

«I hope to have _**no**_ Accidents at all,» Dekker interrupted. «It can be done. Best of all, we will have _two_ Trains each Day for the Armor, not one over-long One. The Battalion's Equipment should all be in Le Havre by the end of the Week this Way. The Men will leave first on several Trains, so they will be ready to load extra Supplies once we reach Dortmund. I am told that there is some Sort of Special Shipment waiting for us there – some Type of Equipment Issue, I'd guess. Plus we are being given a second Battalion of Panzers; their Armor and Gear are also going straight through to the Coast, while their Personnel's Trains are meeting us in Dortmund also. They have only Mark IVs and Light Half-tracks, but they will give us more Flexibility, due to their greater Speed. The 384th did very well when _we_ had them; this was well before your Time with us, Sigmund.»

«Will they be able to work with us?» Kimmich asked in concern, for one never knew what type of training or experience other units might have had. This could cause severe problems, if new-comers could not perform up to expectations.

«They are supposed to be former _Waffen_-SS, like us, all Combat Veterans,» Dekker said, understanding his Second's justifiable concerns. «They took part in that Action in Italy that just ended, so they _do_ have Combat Experience, at least. We've both read in the Dispatches how fierce the Fighting was around those last few Camps. But, we will see; at least _I_ will be in Command.»

«We will survive this, too,» Kimmich chuckled. «If you could survive all that _Generaloberst_ Lasch threw at you, you can survive Anything.»

«Almost, Sigmund; _almost_ Anything,» Dekker cautioned, thinking about Peterson although he said nothing about the subject. Only Jim knew what he referred to… and the Hound wasn't about to give away his Master's secrets.

Later that evening, Dekker had cause to wonder about his survival when he discovered that he and his Second-in-Command were expected to share quarters overnight. He looked at Brewster in near panic, but the American just shrugged. «So I sleep on the Floor _next_ to your Bed. It's no big deal, Sir; I'll hear you if you start muttering. You've been really calm lately; you haven't even started any Nightmares since we left the Farm, and they'd been coming less frequently there too.»

Kimmich came into the room then, followed by his orderly, Hans. He froze, taking in the sleeping arrangements. Dekker sighed at the indecision on Kimmich's face. «Don't worry; the 'Problem' has been solved, Sigmund. Jimmy sleeps on the Floor, like any good Rottweiler. _Schatze_ sleeps on my Bed, like she always does. Rumors can be so very misleading, as I am sure you are aware.» Dekker managed not to look at Hans, for whose benefit that little speech had been made.

Kimmich was at least fast on the uptake. «Of course, _Herr Major_. I was just surprised that they had provided no Pallet for him. Perhaps Hans can find Something? I am sure that Jimmy will help with my Boots, while Hans goes and looks.»

Hans came to Attention with a sharp heel click and then saluted. He was out of the room like a shot.

Kimmich could only shake his head. «I am sorry, _Herr Major_. I was taken by surprise, that they would make you share a Room. You are, after all, the Battalion _Kommander_.»

«Ah, but I am a mere _Major_. _You_ know how the Regulations are… But you'd best let Jimmy get those Boots off for you before Hans returns – if he does return. He looked like a startled Rabbit running out of here.» Dekker's good mood was now restored apparently, for he turned to his bed-preparations with a softly whistled tune and a smile. He nodded to his own orderly when Oscar came in, carrying an armful of blankets which he passed off to Brewster. Dekker waited until his man had left before saying anything further.

«You need not fear any…»

«I _know_, _mein Major_,» Kimmich was quick to interject. «I know how careful you are. I was just taken by surprise, nothing more. Besides, a Bodyguard _needs_ to stay close; everybody knows that. I do not mind him here; he is harmless as long as there is no Threat to you. You _may_ wish to leave him armed, though.»

Brewster watched this conversation in fascination. The two Germans were dancing around the topic oh, so carefully, he nearly laughed. «_Meine Herren_, you'd best get some Sleep. You can continue this… Discussion… in the Morning, _nicht wahr_? And, _Herr Oberleutnant_? I _am_ armed; I just don't always carry it openly.» He eased his jacket open to reveal his service Colt in a shoulder holster, its presence unsuspected until now. He ignored Kimmich's slight intake of breath at that revelation.

«I gave it to him a Week ago, Sigmund; I _was_ going to take it back, but then I realized that it was a better Idea to leave him with some Teeth. He just never carried it into the Compound with the other Prisoners.» Dekker carefully kept his voice neutral during this explanation.

«Again you are several Steps ahead of me,» Kimmich admitted. «This just shows that _I_, at least, am past due for my Bed. _Gute Nacht, Herr Major, Herr Hund_.»

Jim waited until both officers were settled into bed, Schatze up with Dekker. Then, since there was no sign of a pallet appearing for him, he spread out his blankets, turned out the light, and wrapped up comfortably. He was asleep almost immediately. Dekker lay awake for a little while, listening to his bondsman breathing easily in his sleep. Soothed, the German drifted off to a dreamless sleep also. Content that all was well with _her_ world at last, the dog joined the others in sleep, although _she_ chose to chase cats in _her_ dreams. Not even that woke the _Major_, who slept the sleep of the just straight through the night, until the sun began to rise.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The morning was controlled chaos. Jim had never seen tanks being loaded for shipping before; now he wondered if they'd get this done without someone being killed. Men and machines moved everywhere he looked in a barely controlled confusion of roaring engines and shouted commands. Jim was glad that he didn't have to get any of these monsters up on such flimsy-looking perches. The supply trucks seemed easy; the half-tracks and armored cars nearly so. They just needed to get a short string of several flatcars backed up to a loading platform or ramp, then these smaller, lighter vehicles were driven on at one end of the string, then forward down the line of cars. Each gap between the cars had a 'bridge' placed over it, which the trucks, etc., drove over until they reached the most forward-available spot. There they were chained down; heavy chocks were placed in front of and behind all wheels, and then nailed down to the wooden surface of the flatcar with large nails. The half-tracks took a bit more chocking due to their greater weight, but they still weren't that bad. Not compared to the tanks.

The garrison personnel had built massive ramps out of railroad ties and heavy beams at the ends of several spur lines. Here flatcars were pushed one at a time into contact with the high end of the ramp by a small switching engine, then a tank would be carefully guided up the ramp and onto the waiting car. It took three men to 'spot' the tank into position, for the treads over-hung both sides of the car by several inches. Too much to one side or the other, and the Panther could easily over-balance the car, or just slip off the side. This was not a job you would want to trust to a neophyte, and Jim found himself grateful for these experienced men… until he saw how uneasy Dekker looked.

«Your Men are good, _mein Major_,» Jim said to him quietly, not wanting to distract anyone. «Surely you've seen them do this many Times….» Brewster let his voice die off at the look on the German's face.

«_Mein Hund_, we _rolled_ into Poland with the _Blitzkrieg_. We advanced with the Army into Russia, then down into the Ukraine the same way. This Unit has _never_ loaded our Panzers onto Train-cars before. Oh, we know the _Theory…_ but that does not begin to compare with this Reality. This has the Potential to become a true Nightmare. I shudder to contemplate off-loading these Things, and as for getting them aboard a Ship… At least the Navy knows how to do this – I hope. And to make Things worse, _I_ have to stand around looking perfectly calm and confident. And I am obviously failing to accomplish that, if you have noticed my Unease.»

Dekker broke off suddenly and became the confident, authoritative Panzer _Kommander_ once more as he went charging over to the car currently being secured, and raged at the crew responsible for this Panther. Jim hid his grin as he overheard the _Major_ chew out the men, who were apparently not chaining down the tank correctly. Even with all the noise and bustle it was no great strain to overhear Dekker; hell, half the freight yard could probably hear him, the way he was screaming at the slacking men. He rather thought they were lucky: Dekker hadn't shot any of them … yet. Kimmich and _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel joined him there, until the Panzer was secured to all of their satisfaction. The little switch engine pulled the loaded car away and joined it to the lengthening line of cars on a nearby spur track, then pushed the next car into position for the cycle to repeat itself. Now it was easy to see why High Command had sent them all the way up to Warsaw for this; the process would have been much worse at their local station. It would take them several days as it was, and that was with three loading ramps in use here.

Dekker would not be able to stay to watch the loading completed, nor would his Command staff. His orders had been quite specific about that – the local Panzer Commander would be assuming responsibility for entraining the Battalion after the 384th's personnel left that evening. There was that shipment in Dortmund that needed their attention, and a second Battalion's personnel to integrate into a new Panzer Regiment.

There was really nothing Dekker could do to help, so at last he allowed his Hounds and his Chief Medical _Offizier_ to chase him away for a hot meal around noon. Spring was still a long way off; a chill rain had started to fall. It was just what they needed to make the day as miserable as possible – no one dared to mention the word 'snow' in the _Major's_ hearing. But he went at last, and was greeted by an … _interesting_… sight as he neared the messhall.

Someone had decreed – without consulting Dekker first – that all the prisoners in transit should be fed at one sitting, without waiting for their usual guards. This should have been no problem, except for the fact that some of the guards assigned to escort them were… the kindest description was 'not German Nationals or of German extraction.' They were Bulgarians, and Moslems, and had apparently decided that the nurses… It could have been Italy all over again, except that the _Englisch Kommandos_ were in with the others. A group of soldiers running towards the messhall was the first hint of a problem of some sort; at Dekker's waved command all the Hounds save for McKeigh and Davidson took off in that direction also, with Brewster at their head. Dekker followed at a more dignified pace.

There were gunshots just before Dekker went through that door. The other German guards were too shocked; they couldn't decide how to respond to the situation, for there were the Hounds and the _Englisch Kommandos_ standing between the women and the Bulgarians, and there were men down on the floor dead or dying. None of the soldiers had the courage or determination to even try to disarm these bondsmen, for they had been told in no uncertain terms that they _Belonged_ to Dekker, and _his_ reputation had preceded him.

He lived up to it there. "Vhat happened here?" he demanded, and it was Corporal Mathers so addressed.

"_Herr Major_, those… _Schweinehünde_," the insult was deliberate on Mathers' part. "They thought as how they could make free wi' the ladies, here. The _Fräuleins_ said 'No', the _Schweine_ tried to insist. No one else seemed to care, or to want to stop them, so _we_ stepped in. It were about to get ugly when Jimmy an' the Pack turned up. _They_ stepped in, an' I'm right glad they got here when they did, 'cause the guards were startin' t' look at _us_ right nasty-like, if you know wot I mean, Sir."

Dekker switched to German, for he realized that the other onlookers needed to hear _and_ be able to understand this conversation, to avoid future repercussions for his men. «So these Men here on the Floor – they are the Ones who would attack _my_ Women?» Dekker knew that he needed to be sure about this before he took any sort of action.

«Yessir, _Herr Major_,» Mathers confirmed, also in German. «Your _Hünde_ were quite careful who _they_ shot at, although these Others were not. Those two Men over there,» he indicated an area off to his left, where several wounded soldiers were being tended by their comrades. «They were hit by stray Bullets, but _not_ from your Hounds' Weapons.»

«You are certain? Were any Others involved?»

«No Sir; those that are down were the only Assailants,» the _Engländer_ insisted .

"«Very well,» Dekker said, then motioned off-handedly to some of his other men who were now gathered behind him. They wasted as little motion as their commander, although they _did_ drag the wounded men outside before finishing them off. Dekker didn't flinch at the shots; he glared at the remaining Bulgarians still gathered there. «Clean this Blood up! _**Schnell!**_» he snapped, then he glared at their Unit Commander.

«Any more such Incidents, _Oberstleutnant_, and _you_ will join your Men cooling outside. Do I make myself clear?»

The Bulgarian officer stared in shock, but wisely realized the inadvisability of telling this lowly _Major_ that he was out of line. His men _had_ been in the wrong, and besides, there was _something_ about this German and his men that was unpleasantly familiar, a dangerous air… He realized what his instincts had been warning him of when one of the Bondsmen, one of those called '_Hund_', responded to his Superior's next order with an unexpected title.

«Come, Jimmy we will find somewhere else to eat,» the German had called.

«_Jawohl, mein_ _Sturmbannführer_,» the man had answered, intentionally using the older, now forbidden rank designation. And the Bulgarian Lieutenant Colonel swallowed hard, realizing just how close to death he himself had been.

But the Panzer _Major_ had ignored the rest of the Bulgarians, herding his female prisoners out of the messhall before him, and heading them towards the base's Officers' Club, where they should have been brought to begin with, in his opinion. Colonel Peterson went quietly along with the rest of the women, grateful for once for Dekker's high-handed, blood-thirsty methods. He obviously had had reasons for being the way he was, and she was no longer inclined to complain about it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Oddly, loading seemed to go much smoother and faster the rest of that afternoon. The men worked under bright lights well into the evening, loading and securing some of the smaller vehicles, and stacking waiting boxcars with munitions and other supplies and gear. The half-track cargo haulers would be left behind for further use on the Eastern front; Dekker had been grateful to have them, but he would not mourn their loss. Regular wheeled supply trucks would be waiting for them in Le Havre, for they would not be dealing with such severe climatic conditions at their destination… or so High Command said. Dekker didn't know – his final orders would be given to him once they reached Liverpool, England.

So the day passed quickly for the German _Major_ and his men. He had taken time out for supper; the Officers' Club would not serve the nurses unless Dekker was there as their escort. Now it was time to board the last train and follow the long-gone sun. One troop-train had already headed out, carrying his _Infanterie_, _Panzergrenadieren,_ and Support personnel; this one would take the Panzer crews, the returning POWs and Commonwealth nurses, his _Offizieren_, and the bondsmen. It was a long train and would be a long ride; stops were planned to allow the passengers to eat something and to allow other trains to pass around theirs, heading east to the front.

Dekker had noticed that there was surprisingly little traffic in Warsaw heading east. After commenting about it to one of the officers supervising the loading, he was uncertain how he felt to learn that an armistice had been signed with Russia. Germany had been ceded all the lands that they had taken from the so-called Soviet Union, and now occupied, including all of the Ukraine, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Belarus, the Crimea, and the Caucasus. The Japanese Empire must have been pressing the Russians extremely hard along the Chinese border for them to have yielded so much territory with barely an argument; the USSR clearly didn't want to have to worry about a war with both Germany and the Japanese at the same time. Dekker personally felt that the High Command was making a mistake in giving the Russians this breathing space, but he had to agree that it would be good for Germany to have the chance to concentrate on consolidating her own gains, both in the east and elsewhere. They had Italy now to straighten out, and Vichy France to bring further under their control. Then there was North Africa to develop, for the oil there. The Arab tribes would have to be gotten under firm control, but they would have to move carefully while doing so; they did not want a repeat of the last war now. Hopefully _this_ time they would manage to keep the Turks out of it, for they had seemed only to create problems with the more primitive nomadic tribes. Fortunately North Africa was no concern of _his_; that would probably be Rommel's problem, since he had proven so effective there against the Commonwealth with such limited forces at his disposal.

No, Dekker's war had been against the Russians, and he knew _them_ too well. Now he'd just have to learn something else. He turned his thoughts and speculations towards the future as he and his Pack settled into the comfortable command car that this train had been provided with, and resigned himself to the inactivity and, hopefully, peace of the trip west.

There was a field kitchen set up alongside their platform in Berlin, just as there had been the previous day at Poznan, allowing the men to have a hot dinner instead of field rations as at breakfast. Facilities again were sparse and primitive, but no one complained, not even the women, for they had all known worse. There would be a second long lay-over here, like they'd had the day before, both to allow traffic to pass around them and to mask their movement by traveling at night. Dekker checked on his other train-load of men at the platform to the rear of the field kitchen. He found them all to be in good spirits, now that they'd had a hot dinner also. Everyone was quite sick of the field rations after their tours on the _Ostfront_, but they knew enough to be grateful to have even them at times. The men would all be given a second hot meal in the evening, then after dark the trains would pull out once more, Dekker's in the lead this time. _Only the Military,_ Dekker thought with a snort of disgust, _could turn a day-trip into three days of travel. _ Still, Dortmund wasn't all that far now; they would be there sometime the next morning, barring mishaps, and would spend a week there while Dekker integrated the command structures of his two Panzer Battalions into one cohesive Regiment. It was a challenge that the young German found himself looking forward to, one he was determined to meet successfully.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was late morning before the train pulled into the station at Dortmund. Dekker's men clustered around him, loaded down with their gear and dufflebags as well as his. Schatze whined and barked nervously at all the excitement, her leash securely held by Oskar. All their personal effects had to be off-loaded, for the trains would go on to other service while they were here; others would be provided when it was time for them to go. These would be mixed trains, cargo and passengers, for the men would continue on to Le Havre with additional supplies, the troop cars trailing after the boxcars, being lighter laden. It was looking more and more like the 384th and her sister battalion were heading into a major campaign somewhere, although Dekker couldn't figure out where.

Officers and men spilled from the cars as the men detrained and rapidly formed up in the street beyond the station buildings. Even Jimmy had to admit that the men looked good as they marched off down the road to the local recruitment and training barracks. Emptied now of the local militia, this was where Dekker's men would be quartered while in Dortmund. The Hound looked on in some concern at the nurses when they, too, fell into formation and followed the group ahead of them, but his fears were laid to rest when he saw them directed to a small barracks building not far from the officers' quarters where Dekker and his staff would be billeted. Brewster wasn't given long to dwell on such matters, though.

«Jimmy: _komm' mit_,» Dekker called to get his Hound's attention, then turned to head away from his temporary quarters. He went looking for the Garrison Commander's office, trailed by Brewster and _Oberfeldwebel_ Seidel. Kimmich would stay at the barracks to supervise as the troops settled into their temporary quarters. Dekker had to admit that he was justifiably proud of all his men, even the bondsmen. Jimmy followed respectfully at his heels, drawing many worried looks, for he now carried his service pistol openly on his belt. The bondsman returned look for look, sometimes giving a tight-mouthed grin to those who looked most disapprovingly at him. If he had been a Rottweiler in truth, Dekker felt that his ruff would have been up, and he would have been snarling bare-fanged at some of those men.

The base office found, Dekker stood with his men before the Commander. The _Oberst_ in charge at Dortmund clearly did not approve of an armed bondsman, although he said nothing about this to Dekker. Instead, he passed over a thick packet of paperwork and had the young _Major_ sign for it, then abruptly dismissed him. Dekker hid his confusion with a salute, then left the office to try to find Enlightenment among those papers. He mulled over this strange interview as they returned to his quarters so he could examine what were clearly more orders for him. Finally he had time and privacy to read what he'd been handed, watched only by his Hound and Seidel.

First and foremost was an order to have all the men report to a certain warehouse first thing in the morning for a new uniform issue, although no details were given about what was to be included in that. Oddly, even the officers were being _issued _new uniforms, instead of having to purchase their own that would conform to what were apparently new regs. More mysteriously, the new men coming up from Italy would also get an issue once they arrived.

«This is not terribly informative,» Dekker complained to his companions once he'd read through all the paperwork. «It does not say _why_ we need new Uniforms, although no doubt some of the Men do.»

«_I_ do not believe in '_the Kindness of their Hearts'_.» muttered Seidel. «Officers _always_ have to pay for their own Uniforms; why do they suddenly provide for you – or _do_ they?»

«According to this Paperwork they are, this Time at least. We will just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings. We have tonight though, and a Civilized City to enjoy it in. I think that Dinner out would be a good Thing.» Dekker grinned now, looking like the eager young officer he should have been, instead of a war-weary veteran.

With a light step he headed back outside. «Kimmich!» he called, his voice loud but conveying no urgency.

«_Jawohl, Herr Major_?» the _Oberleutnant_ responded as he stepped out of the door to the nurses' barracks. His curiosity was fully aroused, for he'd never heard that particular tone in his commander's voice before, nor seen that bounce in his step as the _Major_ came over to him. He'd never realized just how _young_ Dekker actually was…

«I need you to round up seven of our young _Offizieren_, Sigmund,» Dekker declared, mischief now lighting his eyes. «_We_ are all going out Tonight – surely Someone can tell us where Someplace good to eat at can be found. Tell them Dress Uniforms, if you would. We will go dancing after we eat, if there is any such Place to be found here. Or to some Club… there _must_ be Entertainment of some sort here.

«Jimmy: go see if you can find out for me, Ja? You and the _Hünde_ are coming also, by the Way. We are celebrating our new Orders, for we are _not_ heading East this Time.»

Jim came to attention with a click of his heels and a laugh. «_Zu Befehl, mein Major_ – and gladly. Be back soon.» Brewster paused just long enough to secure the company of a nearby _Panzerschütze_ … for safety's sake, he explained to the young man, then left on his errand.

And Dekker voluntarily approached the nurses' quarters for the first time in two weeks. He knocked briefly, then stepped inside, assuming it to be safe since Kimmich had just left. He paused just inside the door, looking around. Not seeing who he wanted, he stopped the woman closest to him. «_Wo bist_…» he paused and mentally changed languages. "Vhere iss _Fräulein Oberstleu_… **Colonel** Peterson, _Fräulein_?" he asked the girl. He did not know this one – she must have been one of the last arrivals, one of the Australians that had come just before they'd gotten their mobilization orders.

"Well, sir, it's technically '_Frau_'." The girl actually laughed at him as she said that, not mockingly but as you would with a friend. "I'll go find her for you, shall I?"

"_Danke_," he replied in bemusement as he watched her head towards the farther end of the building. It wasn't a long wait; five minutes later he studied Colonel Peterson as she approached him, uncertainty on her face.

Sarah stopped in front of… _her_ _Major_, as Brewster would say; she came to attention and saluted, American-style, which earned her a grin. "What can I do for you, Major Dekker?" she asked once he'd returned her salute.

"Ve are going out _für_ dinner tonight, zome ovf _meine Offizieren und_ I. I vould be honored ivf you _und_ your Ladiess vould choin uss. I mean those that vill be staying _heir_ vith uss, not the rezt." He paused, trying to judge her reaction to this invitation.

She stiffened at first, nearly taking offense, then it seemed that she thought twice about it. "Just the Bondswomen, sir?" she asked, trying to clarify the situation in her mind.

This could make or break their whole relationship, Dekker realized. "I am taking only _meine __**Offizieren**_outtonight, _Fräulein_ Colonel, not the POWs. Ve vill all be vearing _unsere_ Dress Uniformss; I leavf it to your dizcretion vether you vear the trouserss or the skirtss. Vitchevfer you are mozt comfortable _mit _going out in. Jimmy iss trying to find out vhere in Dortmund it iss _gut_ to go, right now. Oh, _meine Hünde_ vill _komm_ alzo; _somevone_ may havf to drag uss home…"

Sarah laughed at that picture in her mind. Somehow she'd never thought of Dekker letting his guard down far enough to get drunk. And strangely enough, she felt no concern for the safety or honor of herself or her nurses, should they go out with the Germans as suggested.

Dekker smiled at her, feeling more relaxed. "No matter vhat you chooze, _Fräulein_ Colonel, I vill see that you havf the showerss _für_ the vomen _diese_ afternoon. I know that I miss havfing vone; you can only feel the same. How long vill your ladiess, _und_ the other vomen need?"

She got that 'deer-caught-in-the-headlights' look again, but relaxed sooner this time. "Is two hours possible? I don't suppose that some real shampoo would be available, would it?"

His smile was gentler this time. "I vill see vhat can be gotten, Colonel Peterson. Do you havf any other needs? Ve vill, perhapss, be able to arrange some shopping _für_ you later _diese_ veek, vonce _unser_ Battalion hass settled in; I cannot promise thiss, though.

"But ivf you vill ekscuze me, I vill arrange the showerss. Vill 1500 be gut _für_ your ladiess?"

"1500 will be perfect, Major Dekker," Sarah said, glad now that she hadn't just assumed the worst this time. She saluted him and watched as he gravely returned her salute, gave that odd little half-bow, and left. She, too, had a lot to do now.

"Ladies, your attention please," she called in her 'Parade Ground' voice. "Get your things together – we'll have hot showers today, at 3."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At 1750 Dekker came to tap upon the door to the nurses' barracks, holding his breath. He had arranged the showers, and had sent McKeigh into town to find shampoo. The hound had done well; he had returned with five bars of real French soap – lavender scented – and three bottles of shampoo that had cost a small fortune: 200 Reichsmarks. Since Hitler had frowned upon cosmetics for women, such things were still hard to come by, even nearly two years after the mad little corporal had been removed.

It was Dekker, gone into town himself with the ever-present Jimmy, who had purchased the real treasures. He knew the ladies' sizes – this was, after all, on their records – and had intimidated his way to a black market contact. And so, three tubes of lipstick and nine pairs of real silk stockings had been delivered to Colonel Peterson for distribution. Dekker would now be utterly broke until payday, after what dinner would cost for the whole group. He already knew this, having checked prices once Jimmy had returned with the list of available eateries and night-spots in Dortmund. The men would have to pay for their own drinks, and those for their 'companions'.

But now Dekker waited to see if any of the Bondswomen would come out with them willingly. And so, he held his breath as he knocked. He stared in wonder at the sight that greeted him as the door opened. Captain Holbrooke stood there resplendent in her new uniform; her hair was neatly styled under her cap, showing signs of having been curled. A touch of lipstick made her smile that much more appealing.

"We'll be ready in just a few more minutes, sir," she said, although Dekker noted that she did _not_ salute this time. He didn't care; at least _some_ of the ladies were willing to come. If only…

"I havf arranged the use ovf sevferal carss _für_ us tonight; ve vill be outside _mit_ _dem_, vhen you are ready," he made himself say casually, asking no questions… like 'How many of you are coming'… or 'Is _Sarah_ coming'… It would be better, he knew, to have to deal with that sort of rejection when he had to maintain a mask, such as among his subordinates. If it turned out that he _was_ so rejected; somehow he just couldn't give up hoping.

But before he could reach the waiting cars and the other young officers, the door opened again and out came _his_ nurses. All were dressed in immaculate uniforms, hair all neatly arranged. And yes, those uniforms looked _much_ better with the silk stockings for an evening on the town. The men all piled out of the cars, coming forward with warm smiles of greeting for their evening's companions. All they would get was conversation and dancing, they knew; _They_ would be responsible for protecting their companions from all comers, just as if they were free German girls. This was clearly understood, for _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich had explained this to his 'volunteers' in words of one syllable or less. It didn't matter; they would still be envied by all the other men, for the women looked gorgeous, even in uniforms.

And Dekker found himself approaching Nirvana, for Sarah Peterson _smiled_ at him when he came forward to escort her to the car.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tuesday, March 2nd, 1943

Dortmund, Germany

The morning came much too soon for Dekker's liking. He was not used to drinking very much, for he had never allowed himself to indulge. It hadn't been safe, with Lasch on his case looking for any excuse, so he had very little tolerance for alcohol. He hadn't disgraced himself; if anything, Colonel Peterson had seemed pleased with his 'self-restraint' at dinner the evening before. That had gone exceedingly well. The meal was actually tasty – almost as good as Anna's meals had been. He would miss his little _Jüdische_ cook… perhaps he would send for her, once he knew where they would be going.

Slowly he pulled himself out of bed. Jimmy was already up and dressed for the day – surely it was not _that_ late already? His impending panic receded when his _Hund_ smiled.

«I have a hot Bath drawn for you, _mein Major_; McKeigh is guarding it to keep Others away. Oskar has your Uniform ready and your Boots polished. You're not late; we started early, since we didn't know what Shape you'd be in this Morning.»

«It _was_ a good Night, _nicht wahr_?» Dekker sighed in contentment as he gathered his clean clothes and shaving things. «That hot Bath will feel good; I am not used to Dancing anymore. Odd; I can march or fight all Day without being so stiff the next Morning.»

«Maybe a Year ago you could have, Sir,» Brewster disagreed with a chuckle. «This last Year, all you really did for Exercise was Ride… and I remember how sore you were when you started that – although you tried to hide it. I won't tell, though.»

«No, you would not.» Dekker was thoughtful, then laughed. «_That_ is why you see me at my Worst… and why you are still alive to laugh at me on Mornings like this.»

«Wouldn't miss it for the World, Sir,» Jim retorted, wondering at himself. When had he become so comfortable that he could laugh at the notion of being shot? He had, though – and he trusted Dekker now. He was no longer kept out of necessity; he felt that he was as close to being a friend as the German had had in way too long a time. The thought saddened him, that Dekker's life had been so barren due to the enmity of one man. With a sigh Jim began to straighten up the room while Dekker went to enjoy his bath.

Breakfast at the Officers' Mess was uninspired. Dekker and Kimmich exchanged sour looks. «I am spoiled, Sigmund,» Dekker finally admitted with a scowl. «I miss Anna's cooking already, and it has not been even a Week. When did I get so soft?»

«Probably about the same Time that I did, _mein Major_,» Kimmich answered with a sigh. «_This_ Stuff is just barely more edible than Field Rations… and we've a Week of it to look forward to.»

«No. I would kill the Cook. Old Heinz did a better Job – perhaps I should place _him_ in charge here.»

«That would please him,» Kimmich concurred. «I shall see to it immediately…» he cut off at Dekker's headshake.

«We have that Uniform Issue to see to first,» the Major reminded his Second. «After that we can see to edible Food.»

«Yesterday's Lunch was no better,» Kimmich mused. «I wonder how the Men's Food is?»

«Perhaps we will conduct a 'surprise' Inspection there to find out – at Lunchtime,» Dekker said with a laugh. «I have heard that in some Places the Men get the better Cooks, to prevent Desertion… or to keep them from mutinying. That could be the Case here… What say you, Perelli?»

«Food was decent in the Common Mess yesterday, _Herr Major_,» the Italian responded without hesitation. «This Stuff looks and smells like Swill.»

«So should I shoot the Cook?» Dekker was half-joking, not sure how this Hound would respond to his warped sense of humor. _Jimmy_ would understand… but it appeared that Perelli did also.

«Sir, you'd be doing the World a Favor,» the Hound answered, then paused. «Maybe you should just make him eat his own Cooking. That might kill him for you, you never know. It'd be Poetic Justice if it did, and still a fitting Punishment if it didn't.»

Both Germans laughed, Kimmich sputtering, for he'd just taken a drink of the horrible excuse for _Kaffe_ they'd been served.

«Enough,» Dekker sobered sufficiently to say. «Perelli, go find old Heinz; tell him that he is to take over the Kitchen here, so that Lunch for my Offizieren will be edible. Have him be sure to go through the Uniform Issue first, so that he will be available for this Duty.»

«_Jawohl, Herr Major_…» Perelli hesitated, for none of the other Hounds were there this morning. «You want me to do that _now_?» _Oh, man, Brewster would have a fit, him leaving the Major alone this way…_

«Go,» Dekker ordered more sharply than he'd intended; he forced himself to relax before continuing, «I will survive without one of you in constant Attendance. You will not be gone that long.» Dekker had managed not to snap at the bondsman because he knew that Perelli was caught between a rock – himself – and a hard place – Brewster. Brewster had left his Superior alone for this meal, but only because he'd taken Perelli with him. Who did the _Amerikaner_ imagine would bother him here, in the heart of Germany? With a sigh and a shake of his head Dekker dispelled his irritation. His Senior Bondsman – his Rottweiler – meant well, and he should be grateful. He would cope.

He pushed back from the table not long after Perelli left. There was no reason to linger _here_; even what was presented under the misnomer of _Kaffe_ wasn't worth staying for. He looked over to see agreement in Kimmich's eyes; his other junior officers clearly felt the same, for all present rose when he showed signs of leaving. He nodded to them, and gave a grim little smile.

«Go; get your Men,» he told them. «You all know how to find the Warehouse? We will meet there for this new Issue.»

They scattered after a flurry of salutes and a chorus of '_Jawohl_s', some of the young gentlemen (seven, to be precise) looking rather the worse for wear. Dekker definitely could sympathize, but he refused to let it slow him or affect the performance of his duty. He started for the warehouse with Kimmich, Brewster and McKeigh falling in at his heels as he passed through the door of the Officers' Mess.

«How were _your_ Meals, _H__ü__nde_?» he asked , his voice low enough that few could hear him except for his men.

«Much better than yours, _mein Major_, if what we heard was accurate,» McKeigh snickered back, risking a public rebuke. He just couldn't help it, though…

«Unfortunately, you heard correctly,» came the wry response. «Luncheon will be better… and _you_ can suffer through that with me. Behave now; I have no Idea who is to be over-seeing this. I only know that it is Someone from the High Command.»

«Don't worry, Sir; we won't disgrace you,» Brewster didn't hesitate to reassure _their_ _Offizier_. He got a nod back in acknowledgement, then they walked the rest of the way in an easy silence… although the eyes of the Hounds never stopped scanning their surroundings for danger.

Many of the men had already gathered near the warehouse when Dekker and his party arrived; they were standing in loose formations, talking quietly under the vigilant eyes of their officers. A young _Leutnant_ wearing staffer's flashes waited near the warehouse door, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. _Poor discipline in that one_, Dekker thought in disapproval as he watched him. The young man looked relieved when he saw the _Major_, although the presence of the Hounds seemed to confuse him. But he had enough self-discipline to come to a very correct Attention and salute these superior _Offiziere_.

«Sirs!» he snapped out as his salute was returned. «The _General_ is waiting for you inside, Sirs!»

«Very good; you may tell him that we are coming,» Dekker drawled out, widening the young _Leutnant_'s eyes, but he saluted again, turned, and vanished through the door to so notify his superior.

«Where did _that_ young Puppy come from?» Kimmich asked in disbelief.

«Berlin, no doubt,» Dekker responded with a shake of his head. «I saw a lot like him when I was there last Year; there were a lot of good Men there too, though. We'd best go see this '_General_' of his; it is always a bad Idea to keep such waiting.»

«Very true. After you, Sir…» Kimmich said, pointedly clearing the way for Dekker. The _Major_ laughed… but it was Brewster and McKeigh who led the way into the shadowy interior.

Tables had been set up, bearing placards as to which company or unit they were meant for. Men manned these tables, and were backed by a veritable mountain of boxes, each labeled with a soldier's name and service number. But Dekker found his attention drawn to a desk set up to one side, also surrounded by boxes and crates, neatly labeled. An older man in the uniform of a _Heer_ General was seated behind the desk; Dekker could sense Kimmich hesitate momentarily when he saw this man. The 'young puppy' waited behind the _General's_ shoulder .

«_Herr General: Major_ Dekker and Staff, reporting as directed, Sir.» Dekker announced as he and his group stopped before the General's desk and offered proper Military Courtesy.

«_Major_ Dekker,» the General acknowledged, then stood. «I am _Generalleutnant_ Heinz Kimmich; I am here as the Representative of the High Command. Be seated, Gentlemen, please.»

Dekker and Kimmich – _Sigmund _Kimmich – complied; the two Hounds moved to stand behind the _Major_'s chair as the General resumed his seat. All waited to see if they would finally be told what this was all about, their curiosity barely restrained.

As for the General, he studied the men before him most carefully. Dekker he had heard much about, most of it very good. It had always felt wrong, the harsh feelings and words that _Generaloberst_ Lasch had had for him; the man's war record was exemplary. He had continued to live up to his reputation even since the end of the recent hostilities. The two men waiting behind Dekker were more of an enigma. Clearly uniformed as Bondsmen, they were alert – and openly armed. Not men to be trifled with, as he had heard from Warsaw. Somehow their loyalty had been won… and that also said much for the young _Major_.

And then there was the _Oberleutnant._ _General_ Kimmich had been very concerned when the younger man had been seconded to Lasch. He hadn't learned until quite recently just what it was he had been ordered to do. Somehow the _Oberleutnant_ had not only survived both that assignment _and_ the demise of his former superior Lasch, but had come out of it in the good graces of his current Commander, and with very good efficiency reports. _General_ Kimmich was quite pleased with the way his nephew had saved himself _and_ his Honor. But… to business.

«Gentlemen: High Command has authorized a Uniform change for several Units, yours among them,» he began with no preamble. «Your Record, and the Conduct of your Men, among other Things, has come to the Attention of the General Staff. I feel that I am honored to oversee this Distribution here Today.» _General_ Kimmich smiled at the puzzlement that his vague explanation caused; it had been intentional. «There is some other Business that needs to be taken care of first, though,» he added, trying to sound somewhat sinister, then he paused for effect.

Dekker didn't know what to make of this round-about speech. It didn't sound as if they were in trouble – just the opposite, in fact. Finally he spoke.

«I'm sorry, Sir, but I fear I do not quite understand you. I was given to understand that I would not receive my final Orders until we reached our current Destination, this being but a Way-stop.» Even here Dekker felt obliged to give out as little concrete information as possible.

«I am not here to give you Operational Orders, _Major_ Dekker, but this.» The General paused, then handed over an envelope that lit the others' eyes in surprise. This _did_ deserve some explanation; and _General_ Kimmich gave it. «I grant you that it is not common Practice to promote Officers during Wartime, but Hostilities are technically over. While _Majors_ have commanded Panzer Regiments before this, it was felt that you would have fewer Problems as an _Oberstleutnant_. Besides, you've earned this many Times over. Congratulations, _Oberstleutnant_ Dekker, although you will not actually put on the Pip until you board Ship at Le Havre.»

He rose to shake Dekker's hand, then turned to look at his nephew. «I'm sorry, Sigmund. I'm afraid I have no such Accolade for you, but know that it is good to see that you have come out of your unfortunate Association with Lasch in good Standing.»

«He is a very fine Officer, _Herr General_,» Dekker spoke up in defense of the younger man, even as he wondered what relationship there was here. Kimmich had never spoken of his family, for they were not that familiar with each other – it was not the way things were in the German Military. He knew more about his Hounds' private lives before the war…

«That is good to hear. But on to the rest of our Business.» _General_ Kimmich actually looked pleased now. «It has come to the Attention of the High Command, of which I am a Member, that a number of _Waffen_-SS Units had survived the Purges and Trials that followed in the Wake of Hitler's Removal. There had been no Evidence of Wrong-doing, so these Units, while stripped of their former Honors, were left in Service under the Command of the Heer. I am sure that you realized that you and yours were being watched by more than Lasch, eh, Dekker?»

«I realized it, Sir; I was more concerned about what Lasch would manufacture than by anything that _my_ Men might do,» Dekker answered, his tone desert-dry.

«You and too many Others, as it turned out.» The General's stolid façade cracked at the memory of just how many promising young officers Lasch had tried to destroy, and how many times he'd succeeded. But he gathered his thoughts once more and continued.

«Due to the Outstanding Records of a Number of these Units since then, it has been decided to return _some_ of the Honors to select Units, based on Worthiness. I will state here that the _Sig-Runes_ will _NEVER_ be allowed back into use. Too many Atrocities are associated with them in the Minds of our People.»

«I agree, _Herr General_, for what that is worth,» Dekker surprised him by saying. «Neither my Men nor I miss them; they were not what was Important to us.»

«Yes, well…» Kimmich paused to regather his thoughts once more; this interview was _not_ going as he had anticipated. «It has been decided that those Units deemed worthy would be given a Uniform Change reflecting their former Service Origins. Panzer Units will be returned the Black Duty Uniforms, with minor Changes; Officers will be allowed to wear the _Steingräu_ (Pale- or Dove-grey) Tunic and Trousers once more, but with the _Heer_ Insignia. The Enlisted Men will have a darker grey for Dress, but it will not be the _Feldgräu_ of the _Heer_, nor will any Uniforms save the Panzers' ever be all-black again.»

«And my attached _Infanterie_, and _Panzergrenadiers, Herr General_? What of their Duty Uniforms… although they always _had_ worn the _Feldgräu_.» Dekker paused in his own thoughts, remembering just how hot those all-black uniforms had been, before the change to the pale greys.

«Just so,» General Kimmich concurred. «They keep their _Feldgräu_… but they _may_ get appropriate Cuff Titles, if their Units have earned them.»

«And _we_ are to get these new Uniforms?» Dekker could barely restrain his excitement, for this was his one regret.

«You are. So is the Unit coming up from Italy, for their Service there has earned this Distinction for them. Do you have a _Problem_ with this, _Oberstleutnant_?»

«No Sir; why should I?» Dekker was puzzled by that question, and had totally missed the threat in the General's voice as he'd asked it.

Brewster had not; the General noted that the stockier Bondsman bristled visibly at this verbal threat to his Superior. _What would the man do in the face of a physical attack_? he wondered… then decided that he didn't care to learn first hand. «I have found… but never mind – it does not apply here,» _General_ Kimmich waved the matter off. «I will not be able to come back for their Arrival; here is a Promotion for their Commander also. I expect you to see that he is notified, _Oberstleutnant_.»

«It will be my Privilege and Pleasure, _Herr General_,» Dekker declared, and it was obvious that he truly meant it. «Can you tell me which Unit is being sent to me? For some Reason, no one has seen fit to let me know that, or who their Commanding Officer is…» Dekker let his voice trail off at the look of satisfaction on _General_ Kimmich's face.

«You will see them in a Week, _Herr Oberstleutnant_; they are still in Italy at the moment, but their Personnel are scheduled to arrive here by Monday. You have enough Barracks-space available?»

«_Ja_, there will be plenty,» Dekker confirmed. «I was given to understand that they are a Light Battalion, so they will have fewer Men. Their Equipment is being routed straight through to Le Havre?»

«It is. You should find all the Armor loaded by the time you get there, or nearly so. England will _not_ be glad to see you come ashore there, I am certain.» _General_ Kimmich laughed at the thought, then sobered with a sigh. «Come; I mean to personally give you and your Second your new Uniforms, since it was by our Orders that they were taken from you. Do you still have your old Unit Pennon? No one could locate it among the confiscated Ones in Berlin. I _had_ meant to return that to you also.» He studied Dekker carefully as he said that, wondering if the young Panzer Commander would admit to hiding it.

There was no hesitation or concern on Dekker's part. «I have it, Sir. I was allowed to keep it, on the Condition that it was never displayed Anywhere. It has remained furled in my Office, or in my Tent since we were… disbanded is not quite correct. Perhaps I should say 'incorporated into the _Heer_'. We may display it again?»

«You have it with you?» The General didn't know whether to be annoyed or not; his nephew shifted uneasily, but the Bondsmen still stood relaxed, taking their cue from their Superior.

Dekker shrugged. «The only Way I could guarantee that no one displayed it was to keep it with me. None of my Men would ever touch anything of mine… and yes, that includes _meine Hünde_.»

«Your _Hün_… your Bondsmen? You call them '_Dogs'_ to their Faces?!!» _General_ Kimmich was incredulous over the seeming callousness of this. Dekker only laughed, and he could see the attending Bondsmen grinning slightly.

«_Herr General_, forgive me; you could not possibly understand, because you do not know…» Dekker paused for thought briefly. «Behind me are my Rottweiler, Jimmy, and my Doberman, Kevin. That is, Brewster and McKeigh. There are four Others back at my temporary Quarters: an Alsatian, a Dutch Shepherd, an Irish Wolfhound, and a Great Dane – he is the odd man out, being former _Infanterie_. The Others were all _Kommandotruppen_. I hope to add at least an _Englisch_ Bulldog and a Bull Terrier, but I will have to wait and see what they decide – they will form their own Pack if they stay with me. But my Pack takes pride in their Designations – if you have Time later, Sir, I will explain their Idea of a Joke to you.»

«Unfortunately, I fear that I will not,» _General_ Kimmich said, and he meant it. He wondered if _Generalleutnant_ Mannheim knew; he suspected that Mannheim knew much more about these men than he had said. But… «Come, let us get this done. I must be gone by 0930, and it grows late.»

«_Jawohl, Herr General_.» Dekker and _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich rose to their feet as the General pushed his chair back. He rose and reached for the top box on the stack closest to his desk. He jumped at the sound of a voice behind his shoulder before he could pick it up.

«I'll get that for you, Sir,» the stockier Bondsman said. _General_ Kimmich flinched; he hadn't even heard anyone coming near him. Turning, he saw that both of the 'Hounds' had moved from behind Dekker and now stood beside him.

«That _Oberleutnant_ Kimmich's, Sir?» the second _Hund_, Kevin asked, although he waited for the General's nod before removing it from the pile.

_General_ Kimmich just looked at Dekker, who shrugged and grinned. «One gets used to them, _Herr General_. It feels… odd… when at least One is not around, anticipating my Needs.»

«They would drive _me_ crazy," the General grumbled, then pretended not to hear the muted snickers from the Hounds. «Will they let the other _Offiziere_ take their own?»

«Oh yes; I'm surprised, frankly, that Kevin intervened… but then again, I am not. Shall I call in _meine Offizieren_?»

«Yes – I can at least see those given out myself.» Kimmich's mood had improved again. Now he stepped back and waited as his nephew went out to bring in the rest of the 384th's officers for their uniform issue.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_General_ Kimmich actually made his 0945 train, but only because Dekker had the train held for him. Despite the new uniforms being sorted by company, they only managed to get through half of the issue before the evening meal. As ordered, old Heinz had been first through in his unit, but Perelli and Davidson had had to go with him and enforce Dekker's order before the old cook was allowed free reign in the Officers' Mess. The meal served that night was a marked improvement, but Dekker still wasn't satisfied.

«You should still have enough Time if you send for her in the Morning, _mein Oberstleutnant_…» Jimmy grimaced and switched to English. "Jeez, that's awkward. How 'bout we just say 'Colonel', like we do with Colonel Peterson, Sir?" Brewster was lounging on a pallet at the foot of Dekker's bed, watching the German pace irritably. He would sleep in the bed once Dekker had settled for the night, but they had learned caution after Hans' poor reaction in Warsaw; Dekker would be sure always to have a pallet for his _Hund_ in the future, for camouflage.

«That will do, among our own, but not in Public. You will have to keep it straight, Jimmy. You will also have to wait until we sail,» Dekker warned, but he was starting to calm as he considered the original statement. He stopped his pacing to look at his _Hund_ thoughtfully.

«Do you think she will be safe, traveling alone?»

Brewster pursed his lips as he considered this. Finally he sighed and shook his head. «Hard to say, but she'd be a nervous Wreck by the Time she got here, if she had to travel unescorted. D'you think that Klink would bring her? She knows him, after all.»

«And who will watch over things at the Camp while he is gone?» Dekker objected. «I should have brought her with me, but I did not want to subject her to the March. It was too much like some of the Ways they were transported to those Camps in the first Place.»

«I don't know if we'll be here long enough for one of us to go back for her, Sir. We'd probably have to chase you to Le Havre.» Jim was giving serious thought to the problem, but could see no solution.

Dekker, however, looked hopeful. «The Passenger and Supply Trains run more frequently than do the Troop Transports. And she would not have to go to Warsaw to catch the Train, although she would probably go through there en route.

«Jimmy, go get… McKeigh, I think. He is next Senior, and has good German. Have him get a Bag together first, then see if you can find me some Train Schedules. _Schnell_ now, _mein Hund_ – we still have much to do Tomorrow; we must get _some_ Rest Tonight.» Dekker's voice was gentle, totally lacking any sort of irritable bite in his order. Brewster could only nod and rise in obedience to carry out the command.

By the time Kevin arrived at Dekker's room, the German was sitting and filling out a piece of paper. «I will have to find out what other Forms you will need, Kevin. I am sending you back to _Stalag_ 384, to fetch Anna here for me. Be sure that she packs Everything she needs, or wants to bring with her.» He paused and looked up at his Hound to see how he was receiving these orders so far.

Kevin nodded. «I'll see that she gets here safely, Sir," was his only comment on that. «Jim's gone down to the Station to try to get the Train Schedules for you. We should have no Trouble, even if we have to play 'Catch-up' – those Passenger Trains are a lot faster than our Troop Transport was. I imagine that the Tank-carriers are even slower.» He paused, then gave a lop-sided grin. «Who knows, Sir, we may be able to catch a Ride on the last of those if we're Lucky.»

Dekker scowled. «I am authorizing you for Passenger Trains both Ways, Kevin. Those long Strings of Panzers will be a Prime Target. I do _not_ want either of you to ride with _Them_.»

Kevin straightened to attention at the serious tone of Dekker's voice. «_Zu Befehl, mein Oberstleutnant_!» he snapped out in response.

«Stand easy, _mein Hund_,» Dekker sighed. «I did not mean… Be sure you are ready; I will have Travel Papers for you by Morning, sooner if needed.»

«I will be ready, Sir; by your Leave, I'll go finish packing now.»

«Very good, Kevin… have a good Trip; come back to me safe, _Ja_?»

Kevin didn't even try to suppress his smile at that unexpected comment. «I will, Sir,» he said, then saluted and left to finish his preparations for the trip.

Early that evening the first of the trainloads of Panzers stopped briefly in Dortmund to change out crews, service the engine, and check the rolling-stock – the actual flat- and box-cars. There would be a dozen such trains – and that was only for the 384th's motorized vehicles and ammo. Moving a reinforced battalion was a major undertaking, not to mention the two train-loads of men and their gear. The new battalion had already started moving their equipment towards the coast, or so Dekker had been told; they would 'only' require perhaps eight train-loads, as opposed to the 384th.

Still, Tuesday morning saw the next train-load come through Dortmund, this one carrying trucks, halftracks and armored cars. The 384th's officers spent a good bit of the day in the various fine tailors' shops that Dortmund boasted, for they each had a full issue of new uniforms that needed to be altered for a proper fit. Dekker had seen to this necessary task right after an early breakfast. He hated such things, viewing them as wasted time, but he knew that it had to be done. Sooner was better than later, for later he would have his hands full with organizational details. There was already more than enough to do now, with the rest of his current men getting their new uniforms issued.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Slowly the days crawled by, filled with paperwork and trivial details. They had gone out once more, on Friday evening, Kimmich's treat, but it had only been Dekker, Kimmich, Peterson and Holbrooke this time; the Hounds had been left behind despite Jimmy's protests. As it turned out, this was just as well, for Dekker had the dubious privilege of meeting the _Kommandant_ of the POW camp situated just outside of Dortmund.

_Oberst_ Malberger was an aristocrat of the old school and looked down his nose at most of this day's young officers. He felt that they were gutter trash, most of them unfit to keep company with. This was especially so of the scum that had been in the SS and SA. How he had survived the reign of the Gestapo mystified most who knew him. Perhaps, they said, _that_ was why he'd been made _Kommandant_ of a POW camp. _Stalag_ VI-D was run as his personal fiefdom; the Dortmund Garrison commander had little good to say about this stiff-necked old Prussian.

Dekker could just imagine how this man would have reacted to his _armed_ _Hünde_, considering the way he'd sneered at the two Bondswomen with them that night. The ladies had pretended not to notice, their feelings salved by the obvious irritation of their escorts. Dekker could only wish for the opportunity to put the man in his place someday, unlikely as that was. But that evening passed, as did the weekend, uneventfully. At last it was Monday once more, with the first of two trainloads of armor and vehicles to come through in the early afternoon. These last two trains had been delayed due to a trestle bridge washing out, taking a section of track with it; this had finally been repaired, although it had put them three days behind schedule.

The new battalion's men were due in sometime this afternoon also. They had been routed up through Berlin, as the 384th had been. Dekker wondered why they hadn't all gotten their uniform issues there, but then it hit him. The old SS uniforms were in disrepute in Germany, but were greatly feared in the 'annexed' countries. So, obviously, that was where _they_ were being sent. One more small piece of the puzzle fitting into place.

Just after lunch the final trainload of Dekker's Panthers pulled into Dortmund's freight-yard. He hadn't really considered it before this, but he had an amazing amount of fire-power under his control. And it would close to double soon. _So much for Lasch keeping his career at a standstill_. Dekker grinned at the thought, his spirits higher now than they had been all day. This mood lasted until an _Obergefreiter_ came running to his rooms, out of breath from his haste.

«_Herr Major_!» he gasped, greatly upset (Only the Hounds called Dekker '_Oberstleutnant_', and that only in private, since the promotion would not officially take effect until they sailed for England.) «_Oberleutnant_ Kimmich asked would you come quickly: there is Trouble in the Train-yards!»

_The Train-yards_? Dekker thought, puzzled… then he realized that some of his Panthers would likely still be there. The trains had all stopped at Dortmund, to allow the engines to be serviced, and the crews to be fed and rest a bit… What had happened to his Panzers?!! He wasted no time asking questions -- these would only be answered at the train itself – and he still had one more trainload of equipment to come through tonight! He headed out of his quarters, still buttoning up his long leather coat.

The train-yard was crawling with guards – an unusual sight. Prior to this, yes, there were guards walking rounds, but… Now most of the activity was centered around the long row of cars bearing his Panthers. From the midsection of the train Dekker could hear Kimmich doing a fair imitation of _him_ screaming in outrage. Apparently Jimmy had thought the same, for he caught a fleeting grin on the _Hund_'s face, although this quickly vanished.

«What has happened here?!» the Panzer commander demanded as he stalked up to the center of this group, and Kimmich.

«_Herr… Major_,» Kimmich said, just catching himself before using the not-yet-official higher rank. «The Guards noticed three Men hanging around the Freight-yards. At first they thought nothing of this, for Men frequently do so, hoping to obtain Day-labor unloading Cargo. They became suspicious, however, when they realized that none of these Idlers had gone anywhere near the Freight Office, which is where they might be given Work. Then the _Feldwebel_, there, noticed them around the Flatcars with our Panthers. Two tried to run when they saw the Guards coming; they were shot. The Survivor is over there.» Kimmich indicated a small knot of men off to one side.

Dekker waved Perelli in that direction without a word; the Hound came to heel-clicking attention and went. The _Major_ nodded to his Second to continue, ignoring the scream that came from that group a few minutes later.

«The last Man,» Kimmich went on with his report, «Bent near the Car's Wheels, straightened, and looked about to run. When he saw that he couldn't make it, he waited until the Guards got closer, then threw his Satchel at them. Fortunately it landed wrong, and did _not_ explode as he'd hoped it would. The Guards found several small Vials of some sort of Nitro mixture inside the Bag.

«One of the Rail-crew checked the Wheels where this last Man had been crouched and found a small Vial pushed down into the Grease Rags around the Axle. One good Bump would have smashed the Vial and probably exploded its Contents, derailing that Car and a good portion of the Train after it. They are checking all the Cars now, but it will take Time. This Train will be even further behind Schedule.»

«Better that they take the Time to search properly than have the whole Train destroyed. It could take out a Tunnel, or a Bridge, and that would cause far more Delays for Everyone,» Dekker growled, his teeth trying to clench in anger. «Who are they, and who do they represent?»

«_Herr Major_, the Papers on the Dead One say that he was a Latvian Forced-Laborer. We have not checked the other two yet.» A young Leutnant wearing a Military Policeman's Brassard stood at rigid attention as he offered that information. Dekker's eyebrows rose.

«Latvian? So, these could be Communist Third-columnists. Be sure you get _all_ their Contacts, Leutnant, before they die. They could have cost me this Load of Panzers… and _this_ one is Mine!» Dekker indicated the Panther that rested on the nearby flatcar, festooned with the extra antennae of a _Panzerbefehlswagen_ Panther SdKfz.268 (command/communications tank).

A second man, this one in rail-workers' coveralls, came over to this officer who seemed to be in charge. «Sir,» he began in poor, French-accented German. «We have found Vials in the Trucks of this Car, and in a second further down the Train. I do not believe that we can get them out without causing them to explode. Can we off-load the Tanks, _Herr Major_?»

Other men standing nearby expected this hot-tempered Panzer _Offizier_ to explode himself at that, but Dekker just sighed. «We can, but it will be difficult. Where is the second sabotaged Car?»

«It is eight Cars towards the Rear, _Herr Major_…» the man began, stopping at Dekker's scowl.

«I am _Major_ Dekker,» he interjected, although it wasn't strictly necessary under the circumstances. «You have a Stockpile of Rail Ties? _Gut_. Have them brought – we will need to build a Ramp, to drive the Tank down. Have someone… what – unhitch? Disconnect? Whatever you call it – the Car in front of this one, and move the Engine forward with the other Cars. We will build the Ramp and unload the Tank, then pull this Car out of the Way – to the Side, off the Tracks.»

"Oui… uh…"

{Never mind,} Dekker said, switching smoothly to French that was as rough as the other's German. {When that is done, take down the ramp, reconnect the front half to the rear of the train, and do the same thing for the second compromised car. You are sure that there are but two so rigged?}

{Oui, Major,} the old man said with a quick nod. It would be a beastly job, but it could be done… perhaps. {How will we remove the flatcar? It will likely explode…}

{The tank can pull it over, and off the tracks,}Dekker replied offhandedly. {There are no more tracks to the far side of this train; it will not destroy anything important if it blows. It will definitely not hurt the _tank._ Then get this train rejoined, and get it out of here. Find me two more flatcars for these two Panthers; they can go with my train when we pull out of here tomorrow night.}

It took three hours, but at last it was done and that train gone on. New cars wouldn't arrive until midafternoon the following day, but they could still meet their schedule. The saboteurs, it turned out, were _not_ Latvians, but KGB agents-provocateur, hitting what they'd thought to be an opportunistic target. They would hit no others, once they'd been bled of all the information they might have. The Gestapo _did_ still exist, if in a watered-down, carefully monitored form; those agents wouldn't stand a chance.

There being nothing else he could do there now, Dekker left the freight-yard trailed by his Hounds. There would be more paperwork to do now, to document _this_ little debacle. At least he hadn't lost a single Panzer; a flatcar or two was nothing, compared to that.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

(1) The **Kettenkrad (SdKfz 2**, or **Kleines Kettenkraftrad HK 101)** started its life as a light gun tractor for airborne troops, being small enough to fit inside the hold of the Ju 52. The concept was developed in 1939, with the first Kettenkrads entering service in June of 1941. Most Kettenkrads saw service on the Eastern Front, where they were used to lay communication cables, pull heavy loads, and carry soldiers through the deep Russian mud. It was also used in the North African theater and in Europe. The Kettenkrad came with a special trailer (.1) that could be attached to it to improve its cargo capacity. Late in the war, Kettenkrads were used as runway tugs for aircraft in order to conserve aviation fuel. From Wikipedia and various Kettenkrad websites. (A/N: They look like a cross between a modern snowmobile and a motorcycle, and I would guess are probably the snowmobile's forerunner.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Monday, March 8th, 1943

Dortmund, Germany

Dekker was in his quarters, trying to catch up on the paperwork that had followed him from Poland when Brewster knocked and entered.

«Troop-train just came in, _Herr Major_,» The Hound announced.

Dekker's eyebrows and mental hackles rose at this formality from his Hound. In public, yes, but in Private?!! «Very good, Jimmy,» he said , rising and reaching for his cap. «Have a Car brought for me; I wish to meet their Commanding _Offizier_ at the Station.»

«_Jawohl, mein Herr_,» Jim answered, grinning to himself. The Military Policeman with him scowled, for the Bondsman had apparently been telling the truth. The German had no time to say or do anything however, for Dekker was suddenly at the door and frowning at the MP.

«What is this…? What are _you_ doing with _mein Hund's_ Pistol?» Dekker's voice had gotten dangerously cold, drawing several other Bondsmen to the vicinity. The MP looked around himself, nervous now as he recalled what he'd heard of Dekker and his reputation.

«It is against Local Regulations…» the unfortunate man began, but he froze at the look on Dekker's face.

«_**I**_ say that they carry them,» the _Panzeroffizier_ snarled in anger. «You have five Seconds to return it; you will **not **interfere with any of my Men ever again. Is that clear, _Feldwebel_?» He stared the MP down as the man shakily returned Jim's service Colt. He got a jerky nod of the head and a snapped salute, then the MP fled before Dekker's wrath.

Brewster just looked around a minute. "Perelli, get a car for _unser Oberstleutnant,"_ he said in as calm a voice as he could manage right then, and looked back at Dekker. «Connolly is waiting down at the Station, Sir; the MP didn't see _him_.»

«Is that where you were, Jimmy?» The German's voice sounded casual, but there was an undercurrent of anger for those who knew him well to hear.

«Yes Sir; we figured that you'd want to know as soon as they got in. No one from the Station-master's Office has notified you yet, have they.» It was not a question; Brewster was certain of his ground here. The men in that office had seemed quite unconcerned by the train's arrival, even though they'd been asked – nicely – to let the incoming unit's new Regimental Commander know as soon as the first train got in.

Dekker sighed, and glanced at the car that had stopped just outside the barrack's door. «You know that they have not. But come; we will meet this new Officer, and see if Connolly needs rescuing also.» Brewster's cocky answering grin made Dekker smile as he slid into the car, followed by his Rottweiler. Perelli, he noted, was already in the front seat, beside the driver.

At the station the new troops were already starting to form up under the eyes of their officers, although these men looked somewhat uneasy. This was understandable, Dekker thought, for as he got closer he could hear several men arguing inside the Stationmaster's office. He started to head that way, flanked by his two Hounds, but he came to an abrupt stop as he saw the woman waiting there beside the office door, looking very unhappy.

«_Fräulein_ Rachel?» Dekker called softly, not wanting his words to carry into the office; he carefully swallowed his surprise at seeing her here.

She turned quickly at his voice in a near panic: _Who here would know her name?_ But the frightened look left her face as soon as she saw him. «_Herr Major_ Dekker!» she gasped, nearly crying in relief. «How did you know we were here?»

«Shhh… I will tell you all, later. Müller is inside?» he asked, nodding towards the office and the loud argument. He thought that he could make out his friend's voice…

«Yes! That horrid Man…» she cut off with a startled cry as Dekker slammed the nearly shut door open into the wall. It hit so hard that the glass in the upper half cracked. He was _already_ **Not Pleased** with said Station-master…

«_Guten tag, Fräulein_ Rachel,» a man in an odd uniform softly called… Rachel smiled in sudden recognition.

«_Herr_ Jimmy! You are still with him!» she said, pleased to see another friendly, familiar face.

«Oh, _ja_; _Fräulein_ Rachel, this is Perelli, one of my Pack-mates. Perelli, this is _Fräulein_ Rachel: watch over her. I've gotta go and back up our Superior; please excuse me, _Fräulein_.» Then Brewster was gone, vanishing into the tension-filled office to guard Dekker's back.

«Welcome to lovely, warm-hearted Dortmund, _Fräulein_,» Perelli said with heavy-handed sarcasm, but then he stopped and shook his head. «I'm sorry, _Fräulein_; that wasn't meant for you. I'll just be glad when we pull outta here. They like _us_ about as much as we like them. We _are_ glad your Group finally got here… You Folks _are_ joining up with the 384th, right?»

«I think so,» Rachel cautiously said, but quickly added: «I do not really know; Steffan does not tell me of Military Matters. You will have to ask him to be certain.»

«Good Save, _Fräulein_,» this stranger… this _Hund_ laughed. «Don't worry, you're not in any Trouble. Actually, you'll have Female Company if you _are_ joining up with us. We have some Nurses – Bond, like Jimmy and me – that are traveling with this Unit. You'll meet them later… do you speak _Englisch_?»

She shook her head, confused now. «Nurses? What happened to…» she stopped herself abruptly. That might not be such a good question to ask here and now. But her… Companion?... temporary Escort?... just grinned wider.

«_Unser Major_ sent Kevin… he's Second to Jimmy… back to where we were, to get her. He was going to leave her behind where she'd be safe and comfortable, and hope he'd get back there some Day. But he missed her Cooking too much; he's gotten spoiled by good Food, now. They'll catch up with us before we get to the Coast, or shortly after we get there.»

She seemed to waver ever so slightly on her feet, drawing a concerned look from her new escort. «Look, you must be exhausted, _Fräulein_. Why don't you go sit down on that Bench over there? I'll make sure no one bothers you, and that whoever you're with doesn't think you were trying to bolt or anything like that.»

«_Danke_,» she said, then grinned shyly. «Steffan knows that I will not try to run from him.»

«No more than Anna will from _mein… Major_, even if the Reasons are probably different,» Perelli said with a kindly-meant chuckle. «You just rest, _Fräulein_; this'll be cleared up shortly, whatever the Problem is. Then we'll get you Someplace where you can relax properly.» He turned his attention away from her then, monitoring the office. That situation seemed to be well-enough under control – there were no shots yet, at any rate – so Perelli let his mind wander a bit, wondering once more just where they were heading, and how soon they'd get there.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Shocked silence fell in the office when the door slammed open. The Station-master was _not_ pleased to see him, Dekker noted with a malicious grin that he quickly turned into a murderous scowl. «_Oberleutnant_ Müller, _**what**_ is the Problem here?» he snarled, making the Stationmaster pale even further.

Müller snapped to attention in the face of his clearly enraged Commander. «**Sir**! I have Authorization here, _Herr Major_, to move my Personal Goods, since this is a Permanent Change of Duty Assignment,» Müller explained, trying desperately to rein in his anger. It had never been a good idea to let one's temper run loose around Dekker, and being a friend wouldn't save him. «This Man refuses to unload my Household Goods, saying that that is not _his_ Responsibility, but he refuses to have the Baggage Car unlocked so that my Men can unload it for me. He says that I do not have the proper Clearances, Sir. And, he says, the Train must go _NOW_, or it will be behind Schedule.»

Dekker turned burning eyes on the Stationmaster, who tried to glare back stubbornly. «_You_ will unlock that Baggage Car,» the Panzer Commander growled on behalf of his subordinate, «Or _I will_. And I can guarantee that you will not like how I will do it.»

«There is no Time…»

«There will be Time; it could have been done by now. Besides, _all_ the Trains are now delayed, due to the Sabotage attempted in _your _Freight-yard earlier today.» Dekker cut across the man's protests in a frigid voice. «Jimmy: have Connolly open the Baggage Car for _Oberleutnant_ Müller's Men, if it is not already open in five Minutes. Blow the Engine if they try to leave before the Goods are removed.» He hadn't even had to look; he knew that his Rottweiler would be there, guarding his back.

«_Zu Befehl_!» Brewster responded, although Dekker didn't actually hear him leave.

«You can't do that!» The Stationmaster shrieked in outrage, but Dekker just sneered at him.

«_**Watch me**_,» was all he said in response. He felt the emptiness at his back for only a few minutes, then Jim had returned, saying nothing. Dekker knew without asking that his orders would be carried out – most likely creatively, since Jimmy was involved. Sure enough, a few minutes later Dekker could hear the familiar clanking of an approaching Panther; he smiled wolfishly.

«What's that?!» the Stationmaster demanded, close now to outright panic, staring wide-eyed at Dekker.

But it was Brewster who answered. «That's the sound of your Engine about to become a Target for one of _mein Major's_ Panzers, _Herr_ Stationmaster,» Jim answered with his own smirk. «You'd better open that Car… fast. The Gunner has Orders to only wait five Minutes before firing.»

The man squawked, then ran past Dekker and Müller, already shouting for the Conductor and his keys. Müller and Dekker exchanged glances and grinned at each other.

«I _do_ like your Rottweiler, _Herr Major_,» Müller said, barely restraining a laugh. «Would the Panzer have fired?»

Dekker did laugh. «Probably, if that's what Jimmy told them to do in my Name. Fortunately, we'll never know, now. But I'd best see if we can commandeer a Truck somewhere for your Things. I see that you brought Rachel with you.»

Müller colored slightly, as if embarrassed by something, but Dekker continued before his old friend could explain. «She will have the Company of other Ladies: I have nine Bondswomen – _Amerikanische_ Nurses – that are attached to my Battalion, although in Truth they are mine. And one of _meine Hünde_ has gone back to my old Camp to bring up my Cook – you remember Anna, _ja?_»

«That will be good for her,» Müller agreed, relaxing as he and his new Commanding Officer headed out of the office to supervise the unloading.

There wasn't much. Dekker looked at the pile of goods and sighed. «We are going Overseas somewhere, Steffan; we will have to crate all of this up for shipping.»

«I know,» Müller returned with an unhappy frown. «No one gave me the Time to do it before we left… and then they made us sit around, waiting for I don't know what Reason. Poor Rachel was at her Wit's end, blaming herself for 'putting me to so much Trouble'. She is the least Trouble of any Woman I have ever met!

«She carries my Child, Johann; I do not like to see her so upset. It cannot be good for her.»

Somehow that news did not surprise him. Dekker grinned. «I will have my Spitfire of a Head-nurse check her out, if you'd like. Don't worry; _Colonel_ Peterson will be gentle with her. She is _eine Amerikanerin_; she will not be cruel just because Rachel is _Jüdische_. I believe that at least one of _meine_ Nurses is also, although I have not checked. I _know_ that one of _meine Hünde_ is, and Anna will be here soon. Rachel will have plenty of Company while _we_ are busy.

«You command this Light Battalion, Steffan?»

«_Jawohl, Herr Major_!» Müller snapped to attention, reminded suddenly of his duty. «_Oberleutnant_ Müller, commanding the 47th Panzer _Leicht-Battalion_; I also have one _Kompanie_ of Motorized _Infanterie_ attached to us…»

«Relax, Steffan; we will get all that sorted out. For now, let us get your Men into Quarters, then there is a new Uniform Issue for them. We will have to start that Tonight, or we will not finish before we must move out tomorrow Evening. My _Offizieren_ will supervise your Men for that, so that _your_ _Offizieren_ can get their new Uniforms tailored adequately.

«Oh, and I have Something for you, from the High Command. Let us get back to my Quarters, _ja_?»

Müller looked at his new CO in surprise. «You've… _mellowed_, Johann.»

«I don't have Lasch to worry about, and I have loyal… Retainers, I guess… watching my Back these Days. And _not_ to stick Knives into it, either. I can almost relax at Times; it is a novel Experience. Don't worry,» he added with a laugh, «My Temper is still notoriously short. Give me Time and a Reason, and you will see.

«Here, get Rachel into the Car. We will ride back to the Barracks. I wish that I had known that it was you coming; I could have made better Arrangements for your _Fräulein's_ comfort.»

«They did not tell you?» Again there was surprise on Müller's part.

«No, I was told neither Unit Designation, exact Strength, or who the Commanding _Offizier_ was. I was only told that you had Mark IVs and SdKfz-251 Light Half-tracks. I think that _you_ were intended to be a pleasant Surprise for me; there are several High-ranking People who are aware that we know each other, especially since Lasch's Trial…»

«You could be right,» Müller agreed, then looked out the Car's windows, uncomfortable with the subject. «Dortmund is a busy Town these Days, isn't it?» The subject change was awkward, but necessary. Old relationships were not something to get into here.

«_Ja_, it's quite busy, although there is still not much in the Shops, save for bare Necessities…» Dekker was grateful for the change of topic also. "I expect it will get better soon. If you need anything, I can point you to the Black Market here. Things are high… but they always are, when one deals with Criminals.»

«Thank you, but I _think_ we have everything that we need… for now.» Müller had paused, thinking of the coming baby.

«Very well,» Dekker said, not really noting the pause. «Some of my Men will see to crating your Goods Tonight.» A glance at Jimmy told the Bondsman that he would be responsible for seeing it done; he nodded slightly to indicate his acceptance of the task.

Müller had not missed that little exchange; once more he wondered about Dekker's Men, although he said nothing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tuesday, March 9th, 1943

Dortmund, Germany

Spring was definitely coming, bringing the warmer weather with it. The occasional warmer night meant unexpected fog in the mornings; today was one such day. Anna had still not arrived, and Dekker was not in the mood for even old Heinz's attempts at cooking. They would be moving out this evening; today would be his last chance in who knew how long to enjoy good, fresh-baked German bread. And so he gathered his _Hünde_ to him and headed into Dortmund proper, his destination a bakery that had smelled particularly enticing.

Going out into the early morning fog was like walking into a wall of white. It looked like the clouds had come down from the sky and settled on the face of the earth. Wilkes took particular care as he drove down the town's streets to the market district and the bakery. It was early, yes; the sun was barely up, but smoke rose from the bakery's chimney, and the scent of fresh bread was heavy on the morning air – as heavy as the fog.

Jimmy went in with his _Major_ to see what might be ready, sniffing in appreciation. Bread, yes – great wheels of cheese sat at one side also, and hot, fresh, REAL _Kaffe_…

Dekker had just purchased several loaves of bread and some cheese, and had just gotten a cup of _Kaffe_ poured for himself when the sound of angry voices carried through the shop's doorway. Curiosity killed the cat, they say; Dekker's curiosity was fully roused. He went to the door while Jimmy gathered up the bread and packaged cheese in a string bag, stepped through the door to try to better see what was going on…

And was met with a fist to the face.

He hadn't been in a fist-fight since he was a boy… not since before _Mutti_ died. It took him by surprise, the force of the blow knocking him off his feet. His Hounds appeared out of the mist, catching the offender and forcing him to his knees – a huge _Feldwebel_, clearly used to bullying men smaller than himself. The intended victim of the _Feldwebel_'s attack stood by in shock; he was a good-looking, dark-haired man in a bondsman's uniform, but one that Dekker hadn't seen before.

Then Jimmy was there beside him, barely in control of his temper. "Oh, you sorry piece of garbage," he snarled. He wished that the guys hadn't gotten to him so quickly, so he could have pounded him into the ground himself. Dekker would see to him, though, or Jim didn't know his superior. "I _guarantee_ you'll regret that." He turned instead to Dekker. «Are you all right, _mein Major_?» Brewster asked, eyeing Dekker's already darkening chin.

Moving carefully, Dekker groped for his cap, then allowed Jimmy to help him to his feet. Gravely he dusted off the cap, settling it on his head with great deliberation as he struggled to control his own temper. He didn't answer his Hound, looking down at the _Feldwebel _with eyes glacially cold. «It is a Capital Offense to strike an Officer, _Schwein,_» he ground out between gritted teeth – it hurt to move his jaw much. «And you did this before Witnesses. I think we need not wait.» He didn't _want_ to wait. _His_ Hounds might not be considered good witnesses, but this stranger-Bondsman was _not_ one of his men. Besides, the _Feldwebel_ bore the flashes of a prison-guard, and that made him one of Malberger's men. It wouldn't be much of a blow against the _Oberst_ – he probably wouldn't even care – but one took what satisfaction came one's way. With one smooth motion he drew his Mauser and shot the offending guardbetween the eyes.

«Hey, you nearly got _me_ with that Blood!» Perelli complained loudly, daring much.

Dekker just grinned. It amused him to see the utter shock on the unknown Bondsman's face, although the German didn't know whether it was Perelli's words or the shooting itself that caused that look. That shade of blue… RAF, probably. Dekker guessed that English would be the best choice of language; the man might speak German, but he couldn't be sure. "Vone (one) less problem _für _the _Reich _to deal vith. Do not look zo shocked. He vould havf happily knocked your head off. You are…?"

The bondsman straightened a bit closer to Attention at the question, although he still seemed fixated on the fresh corpse. «Hogan, _Herr Major_; Bond to _General_ Sebastian Mannheim,» he replied, then looked up again and added, «Former Group Captain, RAF.»

Dekker's grin widened. Hogan, hmm? So Mannheim had taken the chance, and _had_ taken this Man. There was no doubt in Dekker's mind that that was who this was; there had been a lot of coverage during the trial, including photographs, and Dekker remembered him now. This man's German was perfect; his accent was of Berlin, unlike Jimmy's Bavarian accent. This _had_ to be PAPA BEAR; what was he doing here? Only one way to find out… «Ah, I have heard of _you,_ Hogan,» Dekker said with a nod. He would see what else could be learned of this man, he thought as he continued: «And I have met your _General_ Mannheim, but before he took you. You will join me for Breakfast; I would hear of some of your Exploits.»

He turned to his Rottweiler then. «Jimmy, see that _Kaffe_ is brought for Hogan… and these, if they are his Escort.» Dekker indicated the two young German guards who'd come over but who seemed uncertain of how to extricate Hogan from this situation.

Hogan tried. «I'm sorry, _Herr Major_…?» He paused, for Dekker hadn't given him his name.

«Dekker.» The Major said with an approving smile, but one which still didn't quite reach his eyes.

«I'm very sorry, _Major_ Dekker, but I have to fetch a Man for my General from the _Stalag_ outside Town, and I'm running _very _late already, » Hogan tried to explain, but the Major just laughed.

«I know the _Kommandant_; you will have little Luck as you are now. You will eat with me, and perhaps I will smooth your Way.» He motioned to a command car that sat by the curb, not willing to take "no" for an answer. And then Connolly was there, carrying a Thermos of fresh _Kaffe _–_**real **__Kaffe _–and the bread he'd bought, still hot from the ovens, and Hogan was lost. Dekker watched, amused, noting when Hogan realized that all the men were wearing black tunics and looked more closely at him and his _Hünde_.

Hogan sighed. «You're SS.»

Dekker nodded agreeably. «_Waffen_-SS,» he elaborated. «We have been allowed to wear our Blacks once more, although with other Insignia. I, for one, do not miss the _Sig-Runes_. Those were badly defamed by those in Power. We were not all like that…»

«I know,» Hogan agreed, although he still sounded a bit hesitant, as if he still harbored some reservations about the German. «You and your Men stationed around here, _Herr Major_?» he asked casually as he carefully sipped at his hot _Kaffe._

«You are _not _a canny Interrogator, Hogan, » Dekker laughed. «But, no, we are not. We are on a temporary Reassignment. We go to England to help release our own Men… and perhaps even farther.»

Hogan's eyes took on a distant look as he thought about some of Mannheim's papers. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and smiled. «You're from Poland, or the Ukraine, or somewhere out there. The… 384th, right? _Your _Orders will actually take you…» Hogan cut himself off, remembering that they were out on a public street.

Dekker's eyes were thoughtful. «You are more into your General's Business than _meine Hünde_ are into mine. I think it would be best to hurry you on your Task. Have your Men in the Truck follow us; we will take you to see the _Kommandant_ of _Stalag_ VI-D.»

A quick, low-voiced order was given, and then they were heading out of town, the command car followed by Hogan's truck, followed by two Panther tanks. Dekker doubted that he'd have _any_ trouble with _Oberst_ Malberger, no matter what Hogan's orders were. This was an even better revenge on the aristocratic _Herr Oberst. Yes, Hogan's arrival was truly a gift from the… _Dekker paused in his thoughts a moment and grinned again._ Who knows, perhaps there Is a God after all, _he thought_. _He would have to consider that notion more carefully later.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The guards at the gate were understandably upset when two Panzers drew up as escort to a command car and truck. It was all Dekker could do to keep from laughing, but he managed. Hogan'sbondsman's uniform stuck out noticeably among all the black tunics around him. Dekker's men wore black because they had been commandos, _not _because they were attached to a former SS _Offizier, _but few people knew that.

Hogan remembered hearing about Dekker from another ex-_Waffen-SS Offizier_, when he'd been in Italy with Mannheim… in fact, it had been the performance, and restraint, of all the ex-_Waffen-SS_ units in Italy that had won their blacks back for these troops, even though they were all part of the _Heer _now. But, since they would be going to England, and possibly Canada also, the black tunics would give them a psychological advantage – or so the High Command believed. Hogan had to admit that it was effective, even against their fellow Germans, if the reaction of these camp guards was any indication.

The car was admitted to the camp in short order, followed by the truck. The two tanks, however, stayed outside the gate, their infantry support deployed in a loose screen around them. They were definitely intimidating, and were obviously all veterans; no orders had been given, yet the men clearly knew how to deal with potentially hostile forces.

At the _Kommandantur, _Malberger waited for his visitors, and he did not look pleased. Dekker got out of his car when Perelli opened his door, followed by Jimmy, and Hogan. He didn't speak, just held his hand out in Hogan's direction in a very imperious gesture. Hogan handed over the orders he'd carried to Dekker without comment. The regal gesture wasn't lost on Malberger, who colored in rising anger..

«_Oberst_ Malberger, good Day,» Dekker began after a precise salute had been given and returned. Malberger scowled down at his visitors, but kept his silence after a glance towards the gates and the lurking Panthers. «I have Orders here, from _General_ Mannheim, for the Removal of one of your Prisoners. Have someone fetch him and his Belongings; we are on a tight Schedule, as there is Transport waiting at Le Havre for my Unit.»

It was masterfully done, all carefully worded to give the most offense while providing the least opportunity for recourse. Malberger had no chance to contest the orders or waste time – one _still _did not mess with transportation schedules. The worst that he could do was to leave them standing out in the outer compound to wait… and he didn't dare do that, not with Mannheim's name on the orders. Within half an hour, a slim young man was produced, along with a small, worn sack of… _stuff, _and was formally identified as Sergeant Eric FitzGerald, RAF. He seemed in reasonable health, if a bit thin, but _all_ POWs were thin these days, now that they no longer got Red Cross parcels to supplement their daily rations.

Dekker did his best not to stare at the man, who paled somewhat when he saw Dekker there. _FitzGerald_ was not the name that he'd known him by as a young man in training… Still, the prisoner was bundled into the truck without comment or delay, the appropriate transfer paperwork was filled out, and they were retracing their route to Dortmund, all within an hour and a half of their arrival at _Stalag_ VI-D's gates.

Hogan gave a wide grin of satisfaction. He had his man, and it was only midmorning. "Vhen do you havf to be back _mit _him, Hogan?" Dekker's question brought Hogan's eyes snapping back around to him.

"I have to be back by nine tonight, _Herr Major,"_ Hogan responded with careful courtesy, although his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"Take your men _und_ catch _der_ train," Dekker advised. "Ve vill bring your truck vith uz _und_ drop it off on our vay t'rough Düsseldorf. You _kann_ be back by t'ree thiz afternoon if you do that. Or do you havf to havf _der_ truck vith you?"

Hogan smirked. "No, _Herr Major. Mein General _didn't say _how_ I had to get him there, so I didn't specify anything like that in the orders I wrote myself. I _would_ like to get that truck back, though; I don't want to have to pay for it, for 'losing' it. The train will work just fine for me, if you don't mind bringing the truck back."

Dekker sat back in his seat and thought back over everything he'd heard about this Hogan. He shot a glance at his favorite bondsman, and added Jimmy's grin into his thoughts, then looked sharply at Hogan. "Haz your _General_ evfer _seen_ thoze orderz, Hogan?" he demanded, more curious than annoyed at this game the bondsman seemed to be playing.

"Umm… to be perfectly honest, _Herr Major… _no," Hogan admitted somewhat cautiously. "He… dealt with me like London used to: gave me an end result he desired, and a deadline, then left it up to me as to how it got done. The guards _are_ real camp guards, sir," he hastened to add upon seeing Dekker's raised eyebrow. "And at least one of the barracks-guards at _Stalag_ XVI knows – or very strongly suspects – what I've done here. He told me he was going to report me to _General_ Mannheim, but no one even tried to stop us when we left – and we went through a number of checkpoints, too.

"I still have some very talented forgers, although all the forms and stamps are real."

Dekker nodded. "Chust the paperz – the _written _orderz are fake – chust like your Sergeant FitzGerald iz a fake – you _do_ know that, _ja? That_ man iz as _Englisch_ as _you_ are, Hogan." He carefully did not specify just what the man was, in case Hogan did not know as much as he seemed to. After all, it might not be von Trenke's fault that he was still there; Malberger was such a pig, he might have shot Erik out of hand had he declared himself. The young SS man could have realized that and kept silent, deciding to take his chances with the other prisoners. Dekker would hate to destroy his chances now, for he had been a decent man when younger.

But the bondsman sighed now and looked around at Dekker's grinning _Hünde, _his pack of bondsmen. "I thought he looked a bit pale when he saw you, sir," he replied obliquely.

"I knew him vhen ve vere kvite (quite) young," Dekker admitted thoughtfully. "He vas not _Waffen_-SS, though. They said hiz ear for languagez, especially _Englisch, _vas good; he vould more useful be, in Intelligence. He appearz kvite skilled, to be still alivfe. But he iz _not __Abwehr_."

"No, he's not," Hogan admitted. "That's why I have him: My _General_ did not wish him to be left in place any longer. If he's a decent sort, _mein General _will put him in a uniform like mine, and he'll live out the rest of his life as FitzGerald. Otherwise, he'll be shot – quick and clean, as condemned, undeclared SS." He waited to see if Dekker would object to that, but the former _Waffen_-SS commander merely nodded.

"Ve _all_ had to stand our trialz," he agreed, then shook his head. "Conzidering vhere he vas, he might not haf been _able _to turn himzelf in."

"General Mannheim knows that; that's why he's getting this chance. He's… not the only one we've found, _Herr Major."_

"Ah." The young Panzer _Offizier_ let that one word speak volumes. But he remained silent until his driver pulled up at the train station with no specific orders having been given. "Come, Hogan," he said as he exited his car, the ever-present Jimmy at his heels. Brewster wasn't about to leave his _Major_ alone with Hogan, for the other bondsman was armed much like he was, except that it was a Luger that Hogan carried, instead of a Service Colt.

Dekker paid no attention to this. "Ve vill see vhen the train vill be leafing here, und vhen it vill arrife in Düsseldorf. You _vill _be able to get tranzport back to your camp from there, _ja?"_

"Yes, Sir, _Herr Major;_ we can get a ride back to camp – probably with the Düsseldorf police. They will be remembering my general _very _well still, I think," Hogan replied, trying not to smirk at the memory of his last encounter with said police.

"_Sehr gut."_ Dekker paused to check the schedule, then moved over to the window. «I need Space on the next Train through here heading West,» the _Major_ announced softly, ignoring the cringe his black uniform engendered in the ticket agent. «There will be two Escorts, a Bondsman, and the Prisoner that they transport. Coach or Baggage will suffice if First Class is not available.»

«_Ja-jawohl, Herr Major_,»the agent stuttered. «The next Train will be here at Two, _Herr Major_; there should be Seats still available.»

Dekker looked at Hogan. «You will arrive around Four or Five. Will that do?»

«More than enough Time, even allowing for Delays, _Herr Major_.» Hogan was all stiff formality now, in front of the official.

«Good. We will leave you and your Escort here, then, once you empty your Truck. We will leave it in Düsseldorf when we pass through there Tonight. Unfortunately, I cannot stay; I _do_ have a Transport Schedule to meet. It was… enjoyable… meeting you, _Herr_ Hogan. _Auf wiedersehen_.» Dekker came to attention to acknowledge Hogan's formal half-bow, then turned and strode from the station. He knew that the Station Master would most likely try to give the Bondsman a hard time, now that official support had left, but Dekker had confidence in the brash _Amerikaner_. Hogan would catch his train and return to his _General_ with time to spare; He would now attend to his _own_ problems.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

«_Herr Major_?» It was Kimmich, looking slightly harried as he approached his _Kommander_ just outside their temporary quarters.

Dekker looked at him curiously, his gaze turning to a glare as he noticed the Orders-packet that the _Oberleutnant_ carried like a live bomb.

«_Now_ what have they done to us?!» he demanded, trying to control his irritation.

«According to _these_,» Kimmich waved the offending packet slightly, «We are being routed directly to Köln, due to the Delays caused yesterday. And we will _not_ be going through Brussels, either, but down a Secondary Line from Liege through some Place called Namur, and then directly through to Paris.

«They have completely changed our Route; McKeigh will never find us.»

"_Scheiße_!» Dekker snarled. "I had promised… When do we pull out of here; when are we due in Köln?» He frantically ran his options through his mind as Kimmich rechecked the orders before answering.

«We still do not leave until Tonight, _mein Major_; _this_ says that we should be in Köln by around 0200.»

«There is a Truck that I must get to Düsseldorf,» Dekker snarled and started to pace before he got a grip on himself. «I will have to send it by Driver, now… It is a long and amusing Story, Sigmund; I will tell it to you in a bit, once I get this straightened out.

«Jimmy: Wilkes still does not have good German, does he?»

«Sorry, _mein Major_,» Brewster answered. «He can get by among us, but no.»

Dekker gritted his teeth to keep from cursing further; that wouldn't solve anything, and it was a habit that he was trying to break himself of, with the women around now. He dared not send Davidson – truth to tell, he _liked_ his little _Jude_, and didn't want to risk losing him. Perelli tended to let his temper get the better of him at times… and he wasn't about to send Jimmy from his side, ever. He sighed in resignation.

«Jimmy, have Connolly pack a Bag, and pick out two _Soldaten_ as Escorts. I will give him his Instructions when that much has been done.»

«_Zu Befehl, mein Major_,» Brewster responded, then went to fetch his Third-in-Command. At _this_ rate, the Pack would soon be scattered across all of German-held territory.

Connolly, typically, laughed. "Sure, I'll go return Hogan's truck. Y'know, it figgurs that this'd happen; Dekker's life isn't supposed ta run smooth. Who's goin' with me?"

"Guess we can pick 'em," Brewster answered with another grin. "Who'd you want? Wenigmann's good company; he'll talk your ear off."

Connolly nodded. "Yeah, he's a good choice; nothin' rattles him. How about Hinkes? Elmar's a good troop also, but he don't get the recognition he deserves, I'd say. Plus him an' Günter get along pretty well from what I've seen."

"Fine by me. You get packed; I'll find your escorts. Best pack extra, seein's how this trip has gone so far."

«_Jawohl, mein Unterfeldwebel_.» Connolly laughed as he ducked the swipe that Brewster launched at his head, but he wasted no time packing. Ten minutes later he presented himself to his Superior as ordered.

Dekker waited until his two _Soldaten_ also arrived, amused by the choices made by his _Hünde_. He made a mental note to watch those men more closely; it was very likely that promotions would be in order for them, if the Hounds thought so well of them.

«There is a Truck that must be returned to _Stalag_ XVI, in Düsseldorf,» he said, his voice level and calm. «I know you have heard of this Morning's… Exercise. You Men will return that Truck, then take the Train from Düsseldorf to Köln and rejoin with us there. Our Orders have us there at or around 0200. If you miss us there, go next to Paris, or, ultimately, Le Havre. _Try_ not to miss our Sailing… That is all; here are your Travel Permits, and some Funds so you can eat if… Events conspire against you.

«Dismissed… and Good Luck.» He accepted their salutes and watched with misgivings as the three men climbed into the truck and headed out for Düsseldorf.

It was barely noon, but not too soon to start getting the men ready to ship out. The 47th's officers were racing the clock to get at least one uniform each altered to a presentable fit; the men had their badges and awards to shift to their new issues also. Only the Nurses' Quarters were an island of calm amidst all this turmoil of military preparation. That lasted until Dekker showed up at the door, carrying nine small boxes, neatly labeled. These had been on order ever since the women had agreed to stay with the unit; only now had they caught up with them. It had not been at all easy to acquire these, but the Major had felt it to be well worth the trouble and expense. It was highly irregular, he knew; Bondsmen had no rank any longer, technically speaking. He could foresee problems in the future, though, so a pre-emptive strike was definitely in order, to _his_ way of thinking.

He knocked on the door, awaiting admittance. He _could_ have just barged in – even now the ladies seemed surprised that he did not – but that was not the way to earn their respect. At last the door was answered, and he fought down a spurt of anger.

"Oh… You want '_your_' women, don't you. Hang on, then, I'll send them to you," Jessica Simon said with a sneering smirk, offering no military courtesy at all before turning her back on Dekker. His temper was about to erupt when Colonel Peterson came to the door.

She blanched at the look on the German's face. "Come in, please, _Herr Major_," she said, opening the door and stepping quickly to one side. "I'm sorry…"

"I am going to _**shoot**_ that Voman, vone ovf these dayss," he hissed, cutting off her apology as he fought to control his temper. It was not Peterson's fault, after all. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I havf something _für _you _und_ the ladies, _Fräulein_ Colonel. Chust _für__ meine Offizierinen_, not _für_ the rest. Ivf you could havf them gathered _für_ me…?"

"Certainly Sir," she said as she opened the door to her quarters. "If you'd care to wait here. Sir?" Odd, she no longer had a hard time calling him 'Sir', even if she'd out-ranked him once. He'd actually earned her respect, despite the way she'd treated him at first.

"I vill vait out _hier_; it vill be best," Dekker said, mindful of that Simon woman's sneering innuendos.

Sarah stopped, then nodded with a sigh. "You're probably right; I'll get the others for you. Be right back, Sir." She walked down the hallway, knocking on certain doors, speaking soft words to the rooms' occupants. Within moments nine women were gathered around the Major, expectantly waiting.

He studied them briefly, the confident looks on their faces reward enough for restraining his temper all these past months. He couldn't keep from smiling proudly at them as he spoke. " I havf something _für_ each ovf you, to be vorn _mitt_ your uniforms. I feel that you deservf this, _und_ so I authorize you to vear _dem_." He knew them all, so it was no problem to give out the correct boxes to each. He saved Colonel Peterson's for last.

They waited until each of them had her box, then they cautiously opened them to find American-style rank-pins inside. Shocked eyes looked up at Dekker, who now looked somewhat bashful.

"You vill vear vone on your levft collar-tab only, _Fräuleins_; the right tab vill hold the medical sigil, so all who see you vill know that you are Nurses. You earned your ranks vith much hard vork _und_ sacrifice; I feel it is only fitting that the vorld should see _und_ recognize this also." He fell silent, then came to attention and saluted the stunned women. Turning on his heel, Dekker left without another word.

"I swear, I will _never_ understand that man!" Sarah Peterson muttered softly, but tears of pleasure shone in her eyes, and in those of her fellow Bondswomen.

At two-fifteen Brewster was knocking on _Major_ Dekker's door. «They're here, Sir,» he announced, a big smile on his face. «Kevin just called from the Station; he needs a Truck to pick them up, and Anna's Boxes.»

«_Boxes_?!!» Dekker gasped, caught unawares. «How many are we talking about?»

«Don't know, Sir; he didn't say, so the only Way to know will be to go and see. Want me to find a Truck for them?» Jim was nearly bouncing from relief at the return of his friend and Second, and barely remembered his courtesies. He paused in mid-breath, then added: «Oh, yeah – they had two empty Flat-cars tacked onto the End of the Train for you; they're at the Freight-yard now, for Approval, so your Panzers can be loaded for Tonight.»

«Ah, _gut_. We will go see them, after we pick up Kevin _und mein_ Cook.» Dekker had to struggle to hide his own pleasure, although he wasn't fooling his Hound in the least. They had all been worried about their missing personnel, worried that they wouldn't catch up in time. There would be a quiet celebration tonight… or there would be once Connolly rejoined them.

Jim snapped out of his musing to hurry after Dekker, for the _Major_ had wasted no time. He was halfway out the door, calling for his car and a truck, and a work-crew to load the last two Panthers. There was no time to lose; who knew what other problems might occur to slow things down. And Dekker was determined that they _would_ be ready tonight when their train pulled in.

They had orders, after all… and destiny awaited them.


End file.
